During the Course of Ruling Hell
by VoteKingCrowley
Summary: Suffering under the effects of human blood, Crowley goes in search of human contact. As he wallows he is met with the stare of a girl who unsettles him as much as he seems to be unsettling her. In the wake of bloodsoaked deaths that are leaving even the Winchesters uncertain. As she rushes at death, she leaves a journal behind. A journal about Crowley. CrowleyxOC
1. Chapter 1

**During the Course of Ruling Hell**

Supernatural

Genre: Romance and Adventure

Rating: T

CrowleyxOC

Warnings: "Drug" use, mentions of violence, some actual violence in later chapters, allusions of a racy nature.

**Chapter 1: Putrid Human Filth and Its Complexities**

He wasn't sure when last he had been in a place like this, years, decades maybe. A few tables over was a mother breaking tiny baby-fist sized pieces of pastry for her curly haired son. The air smelled like baking and was more wholesome than any he had smelled in his memory. The boy gobbled them up and gave her back a messy, giddy smile. He wasn't sure when last he had been smiled at like that, decades, centuries maybe. Across the café a young girl sat on the edge of her m wicker chair, ignoring her father, nose pressed in a book with a rainbow and a fairie on the cover. The whole cafe had an air of companionship to it, like they were al in it together.

The only tables empty in the establishment were the ones next to him, he made them uneasy, he thought. He was watching them, he saw them glance up and around. A boy made eyes at a girl across the bright and sunlit room. They made casual eye contact, but not with him. When their eyes fell on him they slid passed. The little girl's father looked at her fondly, he couldn't remember when he had been looked at like that, centuries, ever maybe.

The King of Hell sipped his tea.

His stomach curled and rancor slithered through his veins like a virus, those veins still filled with human blood. Before he had been poisoned by the filth of human _feelings_ he hadn't noticed how human eyes didn't settle on him. Or he had noticed it, but he had liked it. It had made him feel potent, the dirt roiling blips of light could sense the power that burned off of him and smelled of sulfur. But he had been ruined with the toxin of desire and wanted to smash his cup on the blonde varnished hard wood floor and hold that mother's chin steady so she could stop looking away from him. He wanted to smash them against the wall and throw the Mason jar vases at their squalid human heads and scream, 'Look at me!'

He squirmed in desperation. At once, livid with himself, furious at the Winchesters, and achingly lonely. He had tried to quell his need for company with that _worthless slime Lola._ But that had ended poorly. And hadn't been what he was after anyway. Well, the tumbles had been lovely. But he had not been satisfied. Honestly, talking to her had been a _nightmare_. She had stolen a body to die for but hellfire, she had the wit of a mollusk. He was getting restless. He considered walking to the bathroom and walking back. Just for some movement. _  
_

He took another sip of his tea. He was staring around at the other patrons. They dedicatedly didn't look at him. He nearly snagged the look of the girl in the corner, ogling at the boy in the other corner but she hurriedly turned away. How he wanted to crush her. It was like their gaze was tickling at his edges, he couldn't quite grasp it. He so desperately needed someone to look straight at him.

And then, one of them did

A girl. A young woman really, 25 maybe, he found it was harder and harder for him to tell. But she was of an age that if he were angling for her soul he would ask after a man or a career and not after children. And she was looking at him. Staring really. She had forgotten her cup and it was hanging in her fingers halfway to her lips. Her eyes dug into him and ripped through him. They were intense and boring through him. He shuddered a little. She didn't move. Her whole body was rigid and her eyes peered into him like spotlights. He felt like he did when he was in a demon trap. Confined, power stripped.

He may have been wrong about how badly he wanted this, it was unsettling. It should not have been. He was the King of Hell. She wasn't even particularly beautiful. Not homely by any means but a night ago he had been lying beneath Lola whose meat suit's beauty could have been used as currency. This girl, who had not yet remembered her cup, had muddy greenish eyes and straight dark hair and a jaw that was perhaps just a little too jutting. She was wearing a pleated floral dress that was moments from being covered in her coffee.

She finally seemed to catch up with herself and set the coffee down on the table where it splashed over the cup's thin rim onto the pretty table cloth beneath it. She made a half motion toward the purse that was slung across the back of her chair then stopped herself and remained frozen for a few more seconds, as though weighing her options. Stiffly, she turned back to her table and looked down at the book that had been, moments before, forgotten in front of her. She had her face set as though preparing for battle. Unmoving, she cleaved her eyes to the book and sat rigidly in her seat.

Crowley was unnerved and to be frank, baffled. He was certain he didn't know her. He knew he hadn't made a deal with her in the days he worked at the crossroads, he took particular pride in remembering every soul he had acquired. He thought that perhaps she had known his meat suit. But he had taken him years ago and she must be too young to have known him well. It was certain his meat suit didn't know _her._

His instinct was to press further, to approach her himself. But he wasn't sure if that was the impulse of him as the ruler of demons or as a strung out blood junkie. Also, a bit, he was afraid of spooking her and her behavior had been odd enough that he was interested in keeping tabs on her for just a bit longer. She had looked at him without abject terror. The idea, embarrassingly, thrilled him. He sipped his tea and from the corner of his eye watched her twisting a ring around her left ring finger. It was an old ring, corroded and missing the main stone.

He wanted desperately to get her attention, or to talk to her. Of course, he wanted much more desperately to be able to write her off as unimportant human trash, but his steady indulgences of human blood made it impossible to be quite as cavalier as he would have liked. As unsettling as her staring had been, her dedicated avoidance of him was worse. Like stepping out of a bath that had been too hot into cold air. Her eyes remained fixed unblinkingly at the book before her.

The thing that was most disagreeable to him was the _way_ she stared at him. It was neither in fear, as if she had recognized him for what he was, nor in an appreciative way, as if she had recognized his well manicured beard or perfectly tailored suit. Either of those were really what he had been looking for. But she had stared with open eyed shock like she couldn't quite come to grips with what she was seeing.

She glanced up from her book and, without subtlety, her gaze fled back to the table. Crowley realized he had been staring at her. He of course, had the right. He was the King of Hell; he stared at whom he pleased. And she had started it.

He raised his eyebrow at her when she glanced back and she seemed to come back to herself. She took a deep small breath went back to her book, reading it this time. She had shifted herself into something other. She had stopped looking so discomforted and had rearranged her posture into an elegant, slanted position that looked nearly _regal._ She could have sat on a throne like that. She would have looked good sitting on a throne like that. She tilted her head minutely. In the middle of a crowded room, with no prelude, she could give an order and he might have followed it. That ruffled him. He was ruffled. He had sunk many hours into creating that air of being so easily commanding. And here she was sitting like a queen in her sun drenched, repurposed art café. No, he corrected himself. She looked pompous, and anyone could look pompous.

Irritated that his foray into human interaction was going so oddly, he resettled his gaze on the other patrons of the establishment. He could have cracked his table in half. Their eyes just refused to look at him. He was a powerful and attractive man, there were entire genres of fiction about how he could meet a beautiful girl who understood him on every level by looking at her in a coffee shop. But those stupid mortal bugs didn't allow their gaze didn't linger on her either. Not that he expected people to have their eyes glued to her, passed being a reasonably well proportioned twenty something woman, she could never have made a living looking pretty. She was still sitting there looking like some sort of damned queen and their eyes only lingered on her briefly. As though paying her respects. He furrowed his brow and stood. He was the King of Hell and she was probably a communication major with a boyfriend who played video games in his boxers and a cat she took pictures with. He had once convinced a Reverend to sell his soul for a Camaro, he could convince a girl to stop making him uncomfortable.

He pulled out the chair opposite her and, in what he considered to be his most charming voice, he asked, "May I?"

Before he could sit she had slid her book back into her bag and risen.

"Sure, I was just leaving." Her voice was chilled and stiff. She swung the bag onto her shoulder and crossed the room briskly. With the tinkling of the over head bell, she opened the glass door and slipped out, brushing hastily passed the potted plants on either side of the entryway, slid out into the sunlight.

Crowley sat, put out. On the one hand, he desperately wanted to track her down. Pouring resources into hunting down a girl who had looked at him in a coffee shop seemed as though it should be beneath him. For the nth time he cursed the putrid human filth pounding through his heart. He stood and, _regally_, swept from the café himself. He had no intention of following the human speck, but as he passed through the doorway something caught his eye. On the potted plants outside the door, still struggling to perk up in the spring sun which still allowed for chilly nights, was a single budding bloom, precisely where she had grazed it.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! This idea has been sitting in my head for awhile and I would love to hear if you guys think it's interesting! I'm hoping to have the next (longer) chapter up soon!**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Hey guys! Here is the second installment, it's still a bit short but the ACTION IS NOT YET BEGUN. Enjoy!**

**Chapter 2: Considering Introducing Oneself**

He was trying his damndest to pay attention to what the Whining Winchesters were saying to him but he was having a hard time concentrating on what new reason Squirrel hated himself of how Castiel's next poorly construed attempt to save something was inevitably going to fail and destroy creation.

He was fiddling with a flower bud in his left hand. _The _flower bud. The flower bud that damned infernal girl had made when she brushed against that damned infernal plant. No. _A_ flower bud. A flower bud that had already existed and had been brushed against by some human worm who didn't matter and certainly didn't make flowers bloom. Just a silly girl in a ridiculously floral dress who had made him uncomfortable because he was poisoned with human blood, and not from any quality inherent to her one hundred and forty pounds of worthless meat.

The Winchesters were staring at him and he thought that maybe they had asked him something.

"Are you even paying attention, Crowley?" Dean barked at him in his usual irritated growl. "And stop making a mess." He sneered down at Crowley, "What is that, is that a flower?"

"Look, boys, you've kept me very busy looking for this blade-"

Not Moose scoffed and rolled his eyes, "Very busy? You spent that last five weeks curled up in a hotel room drowning yourself in human blood."

Crowley stared at him and blinked slowly, "Look, boys, you've kept me very busy looking for this blade but I've got matters of my own to deal with."

Moose gaped at him and, in accordance with custom, spat his response in a tone trying desperately to be deeper and gruffer than his brother's, "What matters of your own? You need Abaddon dead just as much as we do."

"Very true, however, there is a small matter I must attend to before I can dip back into the depths of the ocean."

The words had all sort of all tumbled out of his mouth before he entirely had a hold on them. He wasn't entirely sure what he had meant by it. The plan rumbling up on his brain had been to convince them to go after that girl while he searched for the blade. But that was madness. He wasn't going to send Butch Boys after some girl he saw in a café. He couldn't even imagine saying those words out loud. 'Excuse me, darlings, but if you wouldn't mind there is an innocent human girl who looked at me funny and I would really love it if you could find her and bring her to me for no reason.'

That wasn't a road he was dreaming of going down.

"Crowley!"

He jumped and looked up at the Plaid Patrol towering above him, "I think you were pretty clear about you being the only one who can find the blade, so jump to it, we've got a case, call us if you find something."

"Alright, boys, you've won, I'll go back into the deep and find your blade.

He gave the Denim Dyad a withering look and snapped his fingers.

**XXXXX**

And he did. He really did go looking for that blade and he found a long and very complicated provenance, but come Wednesday afternoon, refilled with human blood via an extremely snarky waiter who had lied quite brazenly about the quality of his establishment's Scotch, he was back in that ridiculously sunny café.

He strode through the obnoxiously tinkling door and to his surprise, or chagrin, or something that tawdry, irritating, _floral_ girl was reading a book at a table drinking a tea, _infernal wretch_. Without invitation he sat across from her.

"Hello, darling."

She looked up from her book, she did not still have her deer in the headlights look she had graced him with before. She looked at him calmly, carefully marked her page, and closed her book. In the same steady voice as before she said, "You're back."

He wasn't going to take any of this, she didn't get to act like he was the one trailing after her when she had spent an afternoon staring at him across a cup of coffee. He narrowed his eyes.

"It was you who were staring at me, love. And I _think_, you know me." He had been thinking about this a lot. Not a lot. _Some. _He had given the matter a few passing moments of consideration and determined that the only possible reason for her prolonged and in no way inherently unsettling staring was because she knew him. And because he had no idea who she was, it was in his best interest to find out. Pragmatically. She could be dangerous.

She fixed him with a long, searching look and laughed. _This_, he thought with a mixture of irritation and interest, was beautiful. It sounded like springtime, like being alive, like being human. Unconsciously, he leaned forward. She didn't throw her head back, but she tilted it minutely and with her mouth open and smiling, her features aligned spectacularly, like a flower in bloom. When she stopped laughing, the jutting jaw and unremarkable eyes returned and she was ordinary at best. She had been_ designed_ to laugh.

She narrowed her eyes at him and he realized his mouth was open. He closed it, and narrowed his eyes right back. She tightened her lips and she looked annoyed at herself.

In a voice much harsher that it had been before she replied to the accusation he had made, "If I knew you, wouldn't I have greeted you, asked you to join me? Instead of leaving as soon as you swooped down at me?"

He tilted his lips in an off kilter smirk, "Pet, if you knew me, you would know that leaving is just what you should do when I swoop."

She smiled as though she might laugh again then clicked her teeth shut. "I just thought you were someone I had known…a long time ago."

Crowley had noticed it again, disregarding the girl, the other patrons of the wretched establishment refused to even look at him. He glanced around as a boy, young, looked up at him from his crayons and, briefly, made eye contact with him. The boy looked down so quickly Crowley was certain he must have strained his neck. Again, this raked against his mood.

She sighed harshly "Stop scaring the children."

He scoffed, and snarled at her, "_Stop scaring the children? _Do you have any idea who I am?" He hadn't intended to be so harsh, nor did he want to reveal himself as the King of Hell just yet, but his emotions hadn't quite been what he was used to of late.

She looked at him piercingly then said, very evenly, "How could I possibly, you haven't introduced yourself."

He calmed himself and tipped his head to her mockingly, "Crowley."

"Stop scaring the children, Crowley."

"Most people would consider returning an introduction."

"How would you know what I considered?"

He glared at her, flummoxed.

She laughed briefly again before stilling herself, Crowley was irritated at how disappointed he was she had not laughed for longer. He was _aesthetically _disappointed. She was beautiful when she laughed and he deserved beautiful things. It was nothing more than that.

She looked at him for a very long then gave him an indulgent smile, "Mary." She took a brief sip of her tea and smoothed her skirt, again floral.

He raised an eyebrow elegantly, "You have quite the affinity for flowers, Mary."

He had designed that particular comment with a number of specific goals. Besides wanting her to know that her never ending supply of floral dresses was ridiculous, he first, and most obviously, would very much like to let her know that he had seen the stunt with the flower bud. Which he now firmly believed was a stunt and not happenstance. Second, he was interested in what she did when he said that name.

Being a crossroads salesman taught one many things. But one of its first and most important lessons what how to tell when someone thought information was precious. This skill was infinitely more important that the banal ability to _tell if someone was lying. _It seemed these days there was some red eyed rookie at every intersection who 'had a particular ability to tell if someone was lying'. Far more importantly there were times when people gave up information that it cost them to tell you. Up the same path as pricy pieces of truths were shadows and hopes that people would be willing to pay _everything _for.

And, although the girl had wheedled the conversation around as long as she could to keep her name from being given up, and although before she did she had analyzed him like a lab rat, it had cost her nothing to give away. _Like Hell her name was Mary. _But he would let her have it for awhile.

Her face had tightened and he thought maybe he had given away too much but before he could try to recover a cacophonous, rumbling roar slugged through the open windows accompanied, to the confusion and irritation of Crowley, an uncomfortably familiar Impala.

"You know the meatheads?" She asked, smirking.

"Why would you ask that?" He purred at her.

She tossed her head back and laughed and when she did Crowley's heart …beat arhythmically because his vessel was getting on in years, which was worrying for…purely medical reasons. Her face was filled with life and it was as though the world was bending to get nearer her. The sunlight which, moments ago, had been streaming through the window left its regular path to saunter through her hair and play amongst her colors.

She was a monster.

She was casting actual magic and was a monster and that's what the Hefty Hunters were here for. He put his hands on the table and leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at her, a smile crawling across his face.

"Because as soon as that car went passed you sneered at it and got all growley."

He disregarded her comment, and said forwardly, "I know what you are."

She scoffed briefly then mimicked him, steepling her fingers on the table just as he had and leaning forward, inches from his face. She mirrored his smile unsettlingly well.

"A librarian, in a floral dress."

He furrowed his brow at her, thinking of all those others whose eyes slid passed him and refused to sit near him, "You aren't scared of me."

Still inches from his face, she mimicked his expression again, "You're not scary."

He leaned just a millimeter closer and curled his lips into what he had long considered his most frightening smile. One he had perfected to give to demons who disobeyed him, to let them know they were moments for pleading to be dead. "I'll show you what fear is, _Mary._"

To his immense distaste, she didn't miss a beat in leaning just a bit closer, till he could feel her breath on his face and giving his smile back to him, "Well, I'm sure you'll try, _Crowley._"

She held herself still a moment, a hair's breadth from Crowley, smiling in his face, then stood smoothly and walked out of the café.

**AN: Thanks for reading! I'm in the process of moving so I'm not entirely sure when I'll be posting chapter three but I'll try to work on it. Drop a review and let me know what you think so far!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: Seven Seven Seven**

Crowley remained motionless at the table. His hands had not moved from their delicately steepled position atop the table. His menacing smile, however had slipped into a deadpan mask of aggression at how unreasonably poorly that had gone. He had been millimeters from the face of a barely grown, unarmed _librarian_ wearing a skirt covered in _pink zinnias_, and he had been unable to frighten her. He was frightening. He had frightened the Winchesters. He had frightened Bobby Singer. _He. Was. Frightening. _But not to the bookish flower bitch apparently.

But, of course, as he had decided, she was a monster, not an innocent human girl. So any odd thoughts he may have had about her were the result of her dark and manipulative magic.

He rose. The Brawny Boys would be hunting her, meaning she must be killing. He smirked to himself as he left the café. He couldn't quite prevent himself from thinking of her holding a machete with blood spackled across her pretty floral dress _laughing. _That would be delightful.

He straightened his tie and clicked his fingers. He would have to keep a close eye on those Winchesters.

**XXXXX**

When his form reconstituted he was in a dingy little motel room with green spangled wallpapering that glowered down at him.

"Hello, boys."

They spun around, Sam clutching his computer, perched on the edge of a bed Crowley would much prefer to never touch, and Dean aiming a pistol at his head. He raised an eyebrow at the pistol and Dean lowered it, scowling.

"What the hell, Crowley?"

"I am here to report that I am very near finding the blade, it's out of the ocean. I am tracking it now."

Dean made an angry monkey face at him, "So go and get it."

Crowley did his best to look at Dean as though he were a baby who had slobbered on something very important. "If there were something I could be contributing to the cause at this moment I would be."

Sam cut in before Dean could bark out whatever brutish and unimaginative reply he was sure to come up with. "Ok, thanks for the update, Crowley, let us know when you've found it."

He inclined his head at Sam then stepped delicately across the room and settled into a chair, looking at the Baffled Bambinos expectantly.

"Well, boys, what are we hunting?"

They stared at him and, quite calmly, he stared back. Having been warmed up on the staring front by 'Mary' the floral darling, he could handle these boys without issue.

"We," Snarly Squirrel said with a growl, motioning between himself and Crowley, "Are not hunting anything.

Crowley himself wasn't particularly keen to go off chasing ghosts with the Wonder Boys but he was interested to know _what _ they were hunting, in case it was that ridiculous girl. He wasn't about to stand by and watch them rip her to pieces…. Because _he_ was going to rip her to pieces. Obviously.

Sam gaped at him with an expression appropriate for a six year old girl who had been told she had to invite everyone to her birthday whether they ate glue or not. "You want to hunt with us?"

Crowley shrugged, "You've gone hunting with Castiel, isn't it only appropriate that you give the opposition equal play time? Perhaps you'll even find I'm more useful, not that that would be hard. How long has it been since dear Cas has answered your prayers?"

Not Moose gave him a dark snarl, "Get out, Crowley."

Crowley held up his hands in mock innocence, "Your loss, boys." He clicked his fingers.

**XXXXX**

He rematerialized right where he was, an hour later, after the Winchesters had temporarily vacated the premises, he glanced around, peering through the smell of microwaved food and unwashed testosterone for something about their research. .

They had the article he had read pinned to the wall. Next to it were three others, from different towns in different states.

"_Seven have been killed so far in what the police are calling the most brutal acts of killing they have ever seen…"_

"_With seven bodies found, mutilated beyond recognition…"_

"_The police have yet to find a connection between the seven dead, mutilated, bodies found in the last month…"_

He turned away from the newspaper clippings and picked up a manila folder. He flipped it open and looked at the page sized pictures it contained, crime scene pictures, as well as reports from police officers. The pictures were _vicious. _Pieces of bodies were strewn the length of the room, a torso left in the middle, ribs cracked upwards, like a crown in the center of their dead chests, each picture was the same. Crowley glanced through the reports, those too were eerily similar:

"_the bodies were…strange."_

"_I couldn't put my finger on it, aside from the gore...it was something."_

"_There was something wrong with those bodies, yeah they were torn apart, but there was something wrong, something I don't have a name for."_

Crowley arced and eyebrow and set the folder back down on the table. This was one hell of a girl.

**XXXXX**

_She had said she was a librarian._ That meant she worked in a library. This was a small enough town, as per every town the Winchesters found themselves in. Why there weren't more hauntings in major cities he wasn't certain. But in this, it worked in his favor, there was only one library.

He strode triumphantly into the library and stalked to the information desk. He couldn't imagine a library of this size would have any more than one or two librarians. He would be upon her soon. Behind the information desk sat a teeteringly old woman with glasses thicker than Squirrel's skull.

"Hello, darling," he said smiling at her charmingly and leaning on the desk. "I would like to inquire about the librarians who work here-"

She fixed him with a confused stare through eyes made the size of saucers from her glasses, "I'm the librarian, little dearie."

He paused for a moment, unsure how to respond to being called a little dearie by someone he wasn't really in the position to maim. He elected to pretend she hadn't. "What about a young woman in a floral skirt who puts people ill at ease?"

"No no, dearie do, it's just me."

He took a second to get a hold on himself and allow himself to let her blood remain inside her body. And then he saw her. That stupidly bright skirt was trying in vain to hide behind a row of shelves. He stalked toward her, snatching a newspaper from the shelf of periodicals on his way. He circled around the shelves so he would come up behind her. She had her legs tucked up under her and was curled in a bland lounge chair. She had her hair tied up in an unskillfully executed bun that did nothing for her and was reading, her nose tucked close to the book.

He waited behind her for a few moments, sure that she would become uneasy.

Without glancing up she said quietly, "I'm sure stalking me would be more comfortable sitting down."

He sneered, but bit his tongue and sat at the chair across from her. "Just here for the paper, love."

"mhm." She said, not looking up.

He watched her, over the top of his paper, close her eyes briefly and take a long strained breath. Her eyebrows pulled themselves together and her jaw thickened as she tightened it together. She looked back down at her book. The edges of her lips were torn down like a twist. Crowley himself narrowed his eyes. Perhaps she really was the killer the Winchesters were hunting. With her face like that, she looked the part. He looked down at his paper.

It did not take long to find the object o his search. This was a small town and what had happened was big news. He read the article briefly. Fierce look or no, it seemed hardly possible that someone such as her was responsible for what he was reading about. She was so small. He reconsidered. The floral skirts and enchanted laughter made her seem small, feminine, something to be protected. But, he glanced at her again. She was not small. Not particularly tall, though not remarkably short either, but well muscled, nearly bulky. He thought of her when she had stridden from the café. Sure of her motions, precise. He looked back at the highlights of the paper's article.

Six bodies. Ripped to pieces. Unidentifiable.

He looked back at her, imagining her ripping bodies to pieces, pulling them apart, six of them. Having ripped bodies apart, he knew it was no small task. But she could have done it. With the right tools it was a feat of gumption rather than brawn. He tried to steal another glance at her but she had beaten him to it. He looked over his paper into her eyes which were already busy pulling him apart. She looked away, back to her book. He smiled to himself and opened his mouth but before he had so much as begun she spoke.

"We're in a library; this isn't the time for snarky retorts."

He closed his mouth and stared at her. Baffled and irritated. H e had had enough of her, he was going to investigate those bodies. Determine if it was she who had destroyed them. He stood slowly, watching her. She looked up at him and let her eyes settle on his.

"This has been fun, love, really, but I have work to do." He folded the paper carefully and dropped it on her lap then, never breaking eye contact with her, and – she clicked her fingers.

He looked back and forth between her, who was not looking unamusedly at him, and his own hand, raised to click his fingers before his getaway.

Fury rose in his cheeks and he curled down, a hand on both of the arms of her chair, framing her in, his face inches from hers. He spoke in a low snarl, quite as a snake, "How do you know me?"

She matched him look for look, her eyes shined darkly with emotion, brewing angrily, "I don't know you." She stood, backing him up and away from her. For each hasty step he took back she matched him, walking him backwards until he was pressed right up against a shelf. In a mockery of him, she put her hands on either side of him, gripping the shelves next to his head on either side and leaning near him.

"I don't know you because _you_ are not worth knowing. You are a secondhand copy. You are a radio edit. You are Mr. Tab. You are Roseart." She was laughing now, but not the beautiful, mirthful laugh of before. It was fragmented, angry, _mad_. She continued in a low snarl the reverberated in his sternum, "You are a boy King of a broken kingdom. I don't know _you._"

By the end of her eyes were blazing, her nose less than a centimeter from his own, her cheeks were bright, labored breath burning across Crowley's face. He snarled back at her and seized her wrists, gripping them harshly. He pulled her left wrist forward and down, causing her to stumble. He had regained the upperhand, hovering over her, their bodies pressed together, his face tilted above hers.

"You think I am a boy King?" twisting her wrists hard.

She gave him a twisting, ruthless smile, and spat her next word up at him, so close to him he could feel the word brush against his lips, "Yes."

"I am the King of Hell!"

Her smile untwisted, her face softened, her eyes wide and wet and deep. For a moment she didn't respond, but let her eyes close and, tilting her head so it was nearly in the crook of Crowley's neck, very softly, _smelled him._ Turning her head and inhaling from the base of his neck until he could almost feel her lips against his ear.

In barely more than a breath she said, "I know you are."

Then she stepped out of the grip Crowley hadn't realized he had loosened and slipped away.

**AN: Thank you all for reading and a special shout out to my beautiful reviewers who keep my writing fire burning!**


	4. Chapter 4

Crowley was furious that he had been put in this position by the same girl, twice _in one day. _She was gone and he was flabbergasted. Had she just…_smelled_ him? She had, and intimately. And he was fairly certain now, had also murdered at least 27 people and, judging by the pattern, was gunning for a 28th. Perhaps more confusing, he wasn't certain if he wanted to help put in a knife in her throat, or just watch her get all bloody killing that last one. Maybe both.

Irately, he straightened his tie and left the library. He was not determined to assist the Brobdingnagian Behemoths in hunting the floral _beast. _ He elected to walk back across town to give himself time to straighten out the particular emotions he was experiencing considering this wretch of a female.

Primarily, and this was the comment that most inclined him to put a knife in her, he was not a _boy King. _He was nearly four hundred years old. There were, he supposed, demons who were older than he was, but that didn't mean he was some uppity, petulant child playing at being a ruler. He was the _King of Hell_ damnit. He had worked very hard to become the King of Hell and he was doing an excellent job as the King of Hell. Aside from the Abadon business but that wasn't _really _his fault. If she didn't respect him as a ruler he would have to _make_ her.

As he walked a young man, this was a _boy_, slammed into his shoulder then shoved him away, clearly unaware of who he was running into. He snickered to his friends and called back, "Watch where you're going," followed by a string of undignified expletives. Crowley, as it turned out, was not in the mood to let this slide passed. The boys, already moving passed him, were hustling themselves down an alley, geared up, jeering at each other. Crowley clicked his fingers.

**XXXXX**

Twenty minutes later, Crowley, whistling absently to himself, came out of the alley, rolling his sleeve back down over the injection track marks at the crook of his elbow. The boy's blood thrummed in his veins, he could feel it working its way through his body. He shuddered with pleasure as the blood pounded through him, and the first thought that crawled into his mind was that he _must_ see that girl again, discover what she was. He could not get the image of her laughing, dripping with blood out of his mind. What he really needed was to _watch_ her rip someone apart, and he thought that he had that chance. Each city had had seven deaths, this had only had six. There was one left before she moved on. Well regardless of whether or not Moose and Squirrel were going to let him play with them, hunting couldn't be more difficult that being the presiding authority over demons.

His walking route took him back to the incredibly humble, temporary abode of Brothers Buffoon. They sat outside, leaning on the hood of their monstrosity of an automotive, talking in low voices. The car was parked on the gravel parking spot a few feet from the manila and mint wall of the building. The building itself was outdated and nausea inducing. Each wall had alternating stripes of that manila and mint all the way up to the, probably sinking, flat roof, the sort that is set down into itself, with a rather large lip. Now, he normally would not have noticed the roof in so much detail. But it so happened, as he approached, he saw a shock of dark hair disappear below the roof's edge, just out of sight. He knew that dark hair, that dark hair was attached to a jutting jaw, ugly eyes and a girl who was becoming irritatingly good at cropping up where he wanted to be.

Then again, her eavesdropping on the hunters who were hunting her would add a beautiful twist to the affair. He would let her have her secrets for now.

He sidled up the Pals in Plaid, smirking.

"Do you need something, Crowely," Squirrel snarled upon catching sight of him, "Why are you so interested in this case?"

Crowely gave him what he thought was an innocent smile, "I'm just worried about my big hunters, don't want them getting scratched."

Both of them stared at him with deadpanned expressions, "And how are you going to help?"

Crowley allowed his grin to spread, "How would _I _help? _I _am the King of Hell. _I _am the most powerful demon walking the Earth." Did he just hear a snicker? "I am not a force to be trifled with."

Dean gave his signature gruff dismissive laugh, "Are you sure you don't want to put more time into finding that blade, it sounds to me like Abadon is getting to you."

Crowley snarled, "What is that supposed to mean, _boy_?" He really was sure he could hear laughing from the roof.

Dean smirked, "You just sound like you're trying to convince somebody that you're the King and I don't hear me or Sam questioning it."

Yes, that was snickering. He was going to rip her to pieces. She was lucky she was so interesting. _Pragmatically interesting. _

"So what will it be, boys? Interested in my help?"

They made eye contact and grimaced at each other, Crowley helped their decision along, "Keep in mind, I'll be looking into this regardless, you are just deciding if you get to keep an eye on me."

Dean sneered at him, "Fine, Crowley, but if you try anything I'm putting you back in the trunk."

He forced a tight smile, uncomfortably aware that that damned girl had heard that, "Lovely. So, what do you know?"

Sam glanced at his brother again before opening the door to the motel room and allowing Crowley to follow him in, once the door was safely shut he opened that manila folder Crowley had perused earlier.

"Well," he started, "There's something here murdering people, and this isn't the first town its hit-"

"Yes, yes, third town, seven bodies in each, six so far here, something odd about the bodies, I know all that, I meant something useful."

Sam furrowed his moose brow, "Alright, well we just got a hold of the security tapes from the last attack. We were hoping to get something off of that." He got up from his perch on the disgusting bed to begin fiddling with the VHS on the 30 year old motel television. Irately, Crowley clicked his fingers and the video began without hassle. Sam jumped, furrowed his bow one more time and sat facing the television, well away from Crowley. Dean was watching from across the room, scowling.

Sam fastforwarded through the mundane and uninformative tape, looking for the attack, "Here." Crowley said abruptly, "Slow down."

Sam pulled a face but slowed the play, "What'd you see?"

What Crowley saw was 'Mary' walking determinately into the convenience store. But she was not wearing her customary floral sundress, but…armor. Old armor. _Bronze_ armor. And in her hand she held a slender, elegant knife. He rather liked the knife.

All three were watching silently, leaning forward slightly. On the video, Mary was barking at the patrons of the convenience store, assumedly to leave, as they were doing, although the tape didn't have audio. She was glancing around determinately, standing light on her feet. Then the video cut out.

Dean swore, Sam pursed his lips, Crowley narrowed his eyes. A few moments later the video returned. She was standing in the middle of the store. Her armor was covered in blood, still clutching that knife. Behind her, they could see the body. But most interesting was her shoulder. No matter where she moved the video wouldn't show it, a crackling glitch in the video followed her in a dark line across her left shoulder. She left the store, moving haltingly, like she was hurt.

Dean snorted, "So we're hunting a girl?"

Sam crinkled his nose, "I'm not so sure Dean, I don't know if it was her that attacked them, why would she try so hard to get everybody to leave if she was just going to kill somebody?"

"So, what?" Dean asked, "you think she was there to fight whatever attacked them? You think she's some kind of hunter. Maybe she just needed to get somebody alone."

Out of the corner of his eye, Crowley saw a shape drop passed the window. With no warning to the boys, he clicked his fingers, deciding that following her would be far more helpful than listening to the mountains of testosterone struggle. When she had made enough of a gap between herself and the Winchesters he appeared before her. She seemed irritatingly un-unnerved.

He gave her a leering smile, "You've been eavesdropping."

She returned his smile with perfect accuracy, "You've been playing hunter."

"Why are you so interested in those behemoths?"

She cocked an eyebrow, "why are you so interested in me?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, "You're going to ask me that," he said, taking a step closer to her, "After you," he took another step, closing the gap between them while she remained motionless, smirking, "assault me in a library and" a few inches from her he disappeared and reformed right behind her, face curving around toward hers, hands on her waist, he whispered his last few words, "smelled me?"

She shuddered and leaned into him, then, as though catching herself, jolted away, "You're mad I called you a boy king." She said evenly.

He didn't answer but gave her his darkest stare.

She laughed, but it sounded forced and uncertain, "Well, Crowley, if it makes you feel better, you're a big, tough, man king.

This was, to date, the only time she had seemed unnerved by him rather than the other way around. He was not prepared to lose this edge.

He stalked toward her, a darkly amused glint in his eyes, "You have been busy, haven't you, so many deaths in so little time."

She was backing up away from him, trying to regain her previous nonchalance but not quite achieving it. "What do you mean?"

He raised his hand and touched her lightly on the shoulder, pushing her gently backwards. Her back hit the wall of the alley he had found her in and, keeping his fingers against her, pressed her against the bricks.

Judging from what he had witnessed of her previously, he had no delusions that he was trapping her anywhere, but she seemed off her game, so he thought now was the ripest time he was going to get to offer her a curve ball. He looked at her with smoldering eyes and very lightly, trailed his finger up and down her arm, leaving one had to press her into the bricks.

"Don't get me wrong," he whispered into her ear as he leaned nearly against her body, "I like the bloodshed."

She didn't really seem to be paying any attention to what he was saying, she was staring at him, glancing between the hand on her shoulder, the caresses to her arm and his darkened eyes, with a confounding mixture of desperation and some form of sadness he couldn't place. As soon as his words stopped she seemed to start coming back to herself so he continued crooning at her in his hushed whisper, paying more attention to her reaction than exactly what he was saying.

As he talked she closed her eyes and, he had to restrain himself from jumping, settled her hands on his waist. Less obviously than before, she tilted her head forward and inhaled strongly. As she did her grip tightened on his waist.

He stopped talking, as soon as the silence fell, her eyes flew open and she lurched abruptly away from him, stumbling out of his grasp. She glanced at his eyes once before she began to flee down the alley. They were filled with rabid, desperate longing and the look he could, this time, interpret. Grief. He recognized it because he had seen it many times before. In the eyes of widows and orphans and parents of dead children, it was a look he had learned to read because if a human looked like that, they would beg for their soul to be taken for one more year, one more day, one more second. And here was the girl. The mysterious, violent, unfathomable girl, looking at him with those eyes.

"Wait." He said. And he meant it. He had never seen eyes like that while he had been poisoned with human blood. He could remember thinking they looked like prey, but now they thrummed into him and set jagged hooks into his lungs.

She stopped, as though she couldn't help herself and stood, so still she looked fragile and waited.

He stepped toward her again, as he neared, he reached out and gently tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. It wasn't so much that he wanted to help her, human toxin hadn't ruined him completely, but when she looked at him as she had, when she leaned into his touch and shuddered at his proximity he felt a thrill of power over her that made him giddy, he wanted very much so to know how far he could push it.

He let his thumb brush softly across her cheekbone and, gritting her teeth as though she wanted nothing more than to flee, she tilted her head into his touch. Very slowly, careful not to spook her, he put his other hand on her waist and pulled her against him. He leaned his head down and let his hot breath curl across her jaw. He let his lips nearly touch her skin and she _whimpered_. He blood coursed with satisfaction at the sound. Her breath was coming raggedly, and her brow was knitted severely, her entire body stiff and unmoving. He turned his head and allowed his lips to ghost across hers, so close to touching he could feel their proximity.

Then screams ripped through the night, breaking her spell. She wrenched herself away from him, looking at him furiously before the tore after the screams.

**XXXXX**

**AN: **Hey guys! Sorry about the long wait, I was in the super busy process of moving and didn't have much time to write. I hope this chapter makes up for it! Hope to update soon!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Not Nearly as Straightforward as He Would Like**

Crowley also followed the screams, albeit with a bit less vehemence than the girl was showing. He had no real intention of _stopping _whatever was happening to the screaming humans per say, just, watching what the girl did. He grimaced slightly when he considered the girl. He had a churning uncertain feeling about what he had just done to her, her eyes at the end had been so lost. Not that she hadn't deserved anything he might give to her, and it wasn't as though he didn't have the right to impose on anyone. He was the King of Hell. But when he considered the way she had looked at him when the spell had been broken he felt _guilty._

These, however, were feelings to focus on at some other time, or at no other time because they were _ridiculous_. But regardless, they were nearing the screams. They had gone up the alley, crossed a sidestreet and up the adjacent alley. They were behind a series of shops. She didn't pause at the door as he thought she might but careened right passed it, disinterested. He continued after her, interested in her plan to save the screaming people. Perhaps she was going to slip around the building. She glanced behind her and sped up, taking a sharp corner. Oh. She was just running away from him. He stopped. She glanced back again, she kept running, but had slowed to a lope she could prolong for longer.

Crowley frowned and looked at the door through which the screams were leaking. Was she not going to fight the monster again? He was certain she had been _fighting_ some kind of monster. She couldn't be a monster. He scowled at himself. Of course she was a monster, whether or not she ripped people apart. Irate, he flicked his hand and the door flew off its hinges, revealing the scene inside. He had expected a carnage filled monster fight. However, it seemed to be a particularly mundane robbery. He clicked his fingers and disappeared, leaving the gun wielding ruffians to their business.

**XXXXX**

Nine days later, Crowley, unhappily dressed in a mediocre suit and drab tie, flashed a forged badge at a police officer and made his way into the gore strewn slice of Purgatory. The 'disguise' had been embarrassingly easy to procure. No wonder the Winchesters could manage it so frequently. He gazed around the scene and thought vaguely that it had been, perhaps, a good thing he had thought not to wear his good shoes.

There were body pieces everywhere, strewn wantonly. From only one body though, he noticed, although other bodies were there. This was a deviation from the previous killings. What seemed to have once been a young man was decorating the walls, but there were three other bodies, which interested him a good deal more. These were relatively unharmed. One clean slit across their throats, and, oddly, a handful of dirt tossed across each of their chests. All crowded around the back door.

Finally, he crouched next to what was left of the first body. In the other corner of the room his chest remained, ribs broken open like a crown. There was something unsettling about this body and he immediately understood the reports he had read about the other bodies. _This body was strange._ He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it was an uneasy feeling that crept slowly across him. A tap on his shoulder interrupted him and, unhappily, he looked up to the human police officer standing over him.

"Got the security tapes if yah wanna take a look, sir." He said, he was covering his mouth and nose with the back of his arm, even Crowley could hardly blame him. He hoped these were of more use than the one he had seen before.

He followed the human to the consol in the store's back room. A technical assistant was there, who played the tape for him. The store had had two cameras, only one of them had caught anything, the other had blacked out immediately, as had happened before. The first camera, the broken one, was intended to be watching the store itself, which had apparently been mostly empty at the time of night the attack happened. The other camera was pointed at the back door. This was the film he could see.

On the tape the three unmutilated bodies – still alive at this point – come sprinting into view, heading for the door. They were clearly terrified, screaming and pushing. They hit the door at a run and scrabbled at it, pushing and clawing. The door, unfortunately for them, would not budge, it must have been blocked from behind. One of them, a young and very pretty girl turned from the door and screamed, begging and crying. The other two, a pale skinned boy suffering from rather severe acne and an older man continued battering the door. Then Mary came into view. She looked icy and severe. Her eyes were dark and cruel.

She walked toward them with purpose, that slender blade held in her hand. Purposefully, and without hesitation, she walked to the girl and slit her throat. The man turned to her and tried to defend himself. Unfazed, eyes retaining that cold glinting look, she twisted away the man's hand and killed him as she had the girl. She disposed of the young man the same way. Then, before turning away, she dug a handful of dirt out of a pouch and sprinkled it across them almost _reverently. _Then, she turned and walked out of the camera's viewing angle.

Crowley frowned. So it _had_ been her? He hadn't seen her since his stunt in the alleyway, _which didn't bother him at all. _He crossed his arms, this was going to put her solidly onto the Winchester's hit list, which considerably shortened her lifespan. He looked down at the technical assistant.

"If two hulking, dim agents come here, - "

The assistant cut him off, "You mean Agents Hetfield and Burton? They've already seen it, they were here an hour ago."

Crowley nearly murdered the man right there, without another word he swept off, clicking himself away the second his was out of sight of humans.

**XXXXX**

He had to wait three weeks before there was anything more to do. He occupied himself looking for the first blade then reprimanded himself for calling it occupying himself. Finding that blade was the most important thing. But he couldn't shake the memory of the girl, staring at him in the alley like he had betrayed her, like he had ripped her heart out and eaten it in front of her. He couldn't stop the guilt that had been digging itself into his marrow. No more than he could stop his hunger for human blood.

Then all of a sudden, people were dying again. He was there immediately. But his time, he avoided the crime scene, he didn't want to bring himself to the attention of the Winchesters just yet. Instead he began scouring the town for _her _immediately. And he found her. And felt _no hint of relief when he did._

She had taken up residence in a horrible little motel in which she looked terribly out of place. He remained unseen, watching her through a window. She was curled up in a chair, she was not wearing her normal dress, but was clad in pajamas, her hair ruffled and knotted. The look suited her. She was reading, a paperback as she had been reading every time he had seen her. He was vaguely curious what it was, but that wasn't on the top of his priorities.

He had been watching her for no more than a few minutes when he saw, through the back window next to her room, the door open on the other side of the room, and two familiar, all together too tall, hunters enter the room adjacent hers. He scowled, that was a set of miraculously convenient circumstances he didn't trust to fate. But he wasn't required to for long.

Inside, the girl perked up and set down the book, leaving it propped open upside down to mark her page. She slipped off her chair and went to the wall shared between her and the Winchesters, settled herself on the floor and pressed her ear to the wall. Crowley crept closer. He flicked his eyes over to the Winchester window and saw Dean talking animatedly. He glanced back to her. She had pressed herself closer and her face looked odd. She looked glowing, excited, and sad too. It was a look Crowley had a hard time interpreting. He crept closer still. He could see the book she had been reading on the window sill, now close enough to examine. He did a double take.

The book's cover was taken over by two shirtless and unnecessarily muscular men with shotguns hung lazily across their shoulders. It was a cover he knew because it was a book he had read for leverage. It was a _Supernatural_ book by Carver Edlund. He sat back on his heels, unsure of what to make of this particular discovery. While he brooded he continued to watch.

This did not improve his mood. Dean and Sam were clearly discussing something, he watched the girl grow despondent when Sam spoke for too long, but whenever Dean opened his gargantuan and uncouth mouth, her whole face lit up, she burrowed closer to the wall. At the moment Dean was telling some long and complicated something and she had pulled her eyes shut tight, pressing herself desperately against the wall. His stomach roiled. Watching her look mysteriously desperate for _him_ had been an enjoyable experience, watching her care so much about one of the Brawling Brats made his skin crawl.

He focused away from that particular spike of _something that felt quite a bit like jealousy but obviously wasn't. _She looked very soft curled up on the floor there, listening so sweetly to something. Crowley had a hard time reconciling the creature who had so coldly murdered those humans with the, so mortal looking, girl curled up in her pajamas, mooning against a wall.

Her mooning had inspired a very short lived temptation to alert the Guntoting Galoots to her presence, but he quashed the urge. Telling them she was listening in on them, and in the very next room, would end her life quite quickly, and he wasn't certain he wanted to give her up just yet.

It wasn't so much that he enjoyed being around her, she mostly drove him mad. But the way she looked at him pierced him in some part made soft by his human habit that he could not shake. When she smelled him, leaned into him in that alley, it had made him feel like some primal part of her, some backbone of her character _needed_ him. And he wanted desperately to be needed.

He considered that for a moment. He did want to be needed, and as ridiculous and it was, he wanted someone to enjoy his company. While he was certain this was an effect of the human blood, why should he fight it? He was the _King of Hell._ If he wasn't in a position to indulge his, even undignified, desires, who was? And he had an idea.

Partly because he didn't want to be caught and partly because he had to stop watching the girl look so softly at the wall while the 'short' Winchester was talking, he disappeared.

**XXXXX**

He came back to the same motel at night, deep night. He crept close to the window and carefully looked within. He wasn't sure exactly what she was so he hadn't been sure it would work, but there she lay, curled up and sleeping on the motel bed. He grinned to himself and rematerialized inside her motel room. Silently, he crept to the side of her bed and waited above her, watching carefully to see if she woke. He had dressed appropriately for the occasion, wearing only his silken pajamas. Very slowly, trying not to jostle the cheap bed, he sat next to her, precariously at first. She didn't move. He inched himself up onto the bed, slow movement by slow movement. Finally he was settled, leaning against the headboard with his feet stretched out in front of him. She was curled away from him on the other side of the bed. He didn't make a move, only waited.

He did not have to wait long, she turned, as if on instinct, although still sleeping, and curled up against him, her face not so much on his lap but burrowed into his side. She was on her side, one arm tucked up under her and the other curled around him, snug about his waist. Warm tingled rose within him and, smiling a little, though still moving cautiously, he let a hand fall to her hair, she shifted and he froze, terrified she would wake. But she didn't, merely wormed her head softly against his hand and made a small contented noise.

With utmost softness, Crowley began running his fingers through her hair, stroking it more tenderly than he had, perhaps, stroked anything. To prepare himself he had freshly dosed himself with human blood before coming, and when she squirmed happily against him and tightened her grip about his waist, he could feel that human blood pumping in his veins, warm and sure.

He remained, stroking her hair on and off, the length of the night. Come morning he watched her carefully and as she began to stir, he disappeared.

**AN/ There you, my lovelies, THINGS ARE GETTING REAL! I hope you guys enjoyed it. Please let me know what you liked (and what you didn't) so I can do fun things like improve! GOODNIGHT MY FANFICTION BEAUTIES.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: What Could I be Forgetting**

Having left the motel room as the sun rose, Crowley was not sure how exactly to think of the previous night's affair. It had been, without question, one of the creepier things he had ever done. Sleeping next to a girl who didn't know he was there. But, on the other hand, he had tortured people until their souls blackened, so what was it to him if he was a little ungentlemanly? It isn't as though he hurt her in any way. But still, he had been a bit uncouth. He was thinking too much, he had to do something to improve his mood.

**XXXXX**

The opportunity to better his mood didn't present itself for a few days, but when it did, he could not resist. News of another attack the night before had alerted him. He had avoided he girl, unsure he was willing to repeat the night's advances, as much as he may have wanted to feel her curling up against him again.

He appeared very near where he had been, just across a thin wall as it happened, though now fully dressed. He crept, as he had done before to the girl, over to the bed of a slumbering Dean Winchester. He was going to call this research.

Very softly he slipped down onto Dean's bed and carefully petted his short hair. Unlike the girl, however, Squirrel shot up immediately, a gun drawn from under his bed, fully awake and glaring, bedraggledly at Crowley.

"Don't get up on my account, darling," Crowley cooed at him.

"What the HELL, CROWLEY!" Dean shouted, "You're just gonna turn up here while I'm sleeping and pet my hair?"

Crowley cocked his head and grinned, "disappointed I'm not Castiel?"

By this time Sam was also awake and alert, scrambling to his feet, Crowley stayed where he was, relaxed and contented.

"How are you coming with your little case, boys?"

Crowley gave them awhile to settle down, listening a bit to their squawking complaints that he had "infringed on their privacy" and it was "creepy as hell" which made him snicker, and "what did he mean disappointed it wasn't Cas?"

Only then did they consider his question, "We've got jack on the case, I thought you were so excited to help out?"

"I am, I will, take me with you today, you have something important to do I'm sure."

Sam nodded, "We're going to the coroner to look at a body, maybe figure out what killed it."

"I'm coming with you for that," Crowley said matter-of-factly.

"I don't think so." Dean barked.

"Try to stop me." Crowley hissed.

Dean laughed shortly and looked at Sam, "Cute how he says that like we never tied him up in a dungeon."

Crowley scowled and disappeared.

**XXXXX**

He did, however, join them to go to the coroner. Sam had apparently won Dean over that Crowley might be helpful because he didn't make much of a fuss.

Crowley was not feeling particularly warmly toward Dean, at the moment. Regardless of her slumbering cuddliness, she had, while awake, been far too enraptured with the handsome hunter hunk. He, however, couldn't really dwell on that, there were pieces of body to examine.

The victim this time, the fifth so far in the town, had been that of a middle aged woman, mother of three. The children themselves were in the hospital, broken bones being mended from their trip out a second story window. Crowley planned on talking to them next, or letting Sam goggle his comically giant eyes at them until they wept the whole story.

Their dead mother, though, was on the slab before him. As before, she had been torn apart, chest ripped open, insides eviscerated. And again, she felt odd. He had been thinking a lot about the last body and as he neared this one he got that same chilly sense. Like there was some vital, humany piece gone.

Then it struck him.

"Her soul is gone."

The boys looked at him, Dean rolled his eyes, "of course her soul is gone, she's been dead for almost a day."

Crowley looked at him as though at a tiny noncomprehending child, "No, you buffoon, her soul was stripped from her body _before_ she was killed, pulled out of her, eaten out of her by the looks of it." This was churning even Crowley's stomach.

Sam grimaced, "So…what does that?"

Dean shrugged, "Hellhounds?"

Crowley stared at him, "You think, perhaps, if hellhounds were doing this I MIGHT HAVE NOTICED?"

Dean only smirked and looked back and the body and Crowley realized the brainless bulk of muscle had been trying to get a rise out of him.

"Alright," Sam said, "So whatever we're looking for eats or pulls out souls or something, then rips the bodies apart…then why are there other dead people sometimes, like the three in the last town back, with their throats slit?"

Dean nodded, "And can look like some innocent girl. God, I swear I know her from somewhere."

Crowley shifted, "Do you now? Old flame perhaps." This idea made him agitated, but he wasn't going to let that on.

"No, she just looks really familiar."

They lingered for awhile more over the body, but it became quickly apparent that they couldn't glean anything more from it, and the creeping feeling it gave off drove them out of the coroner's office.

Their next stop was those children. As they drove across town, as Dean insisted on driving, Crowley brooded _in the back seat_ about the monster capable of ripping out a soul. He hadn't heard of one, couldn't comprehend what it would be like. Dangerous though.

The children proved to be in a terrible state. They had been, it seemed, thrown from a window rather unceremoniously on top of one another. The eldest two, a girl and a boy, were unconscious still. The youngest, a girl of seven had been thrown last, and was awake, although sporting a broken leg and fractured ribs.

They crowded around her bed and she shrunk, looking scared. Crowley scowled at the other two and crouched next to her, so she was at his eye level.

"Hello, darling," he said in a soft voice, you've had quite a scare, haven't you."

She bit her lip and nodded.

He turned and fetched a pudding cup from the table behind him, opened it for her, and offered it to her with a spoon. "Here, you deserve a treat for how brave you've been."

She gave him a rather stricken smile and nibbled on a little of the pudding. Crowley continued, still using the same soft, soothing tone, "Now, Amy, it's Amy isn't it?"

She nodded.

"Amy, I need you to be just a little bit more brave. I need you to tell me what happened, everything you remember. Can you do that, Amy?"

She looked at him with big quivering eyes and sucked in her bottom lip. Then she looked down and shook her head.

He, very gently, tucked a curl behind her ear, "Look, little thing, I'll make you a deal okay?"

Behind him Dean made an aggressive noise, Crowley swiftly glared up at him before looking back at the little girl. "All you have to do is tell me exactly what happened, and I'll make sure your brother and sister are okay."

She made a face, "How will you do that?"

He clicked his fingers and a squashy teddy bear appeared in his hands. He tucked in under one of her arms, "I'm magic." He whispered conspiratorially.

She cuddled the bear and sucked on her lip, then in a sweet little voice whispered, "okay."

He gave her a pleased smile, "Alright, Amy, to make it work, I've got to seal the deal," then he leaned forward and kissed her softly on the top of the head.

"Now, all you have to do is tell me just what happened last night."

She pulled the bear up under her little chin and looked at her lap. "Momma tucked me in and I was almost nearly asleep but then my Melly, my sissy, she got up cuz she sleeps there too and she said there was noises. So I was scared, I didn't hear anything but then I listened and I heard scratches and stuff from downstairs and then Momma screamed real loud and the window broked downstairs and then Melly ran out cuz she wanted to get Reed, my brother. Then I was all alone and then the door opened and there was a lady."

She stopped here to take a few quick breaths before plunging back into the story.

"The lady picked me up and she said it was gonna be okay but I wanted to go downstairs because I wanted my mamma, but the lady took me toward Reed's room and I kicked her cuz I wanted to go to my mamma, but then I saw behind her and there was a –"

She was breathing hard and fast now, tears were coming out of her eyes and she was clutching the bear tight despite her ribs, "And there was a monster. He came up the stairs and he was all red and he walked but his feet were all like claws and his head was teethy and I screamed because I was scared and I'm sorry I didn't mean to I made a mess."

Crowley petted her hair, "That's alright, darling, tell me exactly what the monster looked like."

She took a deep breath, "He was like a guy but his eyes were all dark and big and slanty and his teeth were really big and sharp and stuff and his hands were like big claws and they were all gray. And he had wings."

"Wings?" Crowley prompted, "What sort of wings?"

She big her lip and considered, "They were really flappy, and they had some feathers but not a lot like falling off and yucky."

"Is that all you remember about the monster?"

She nodded.

"Ok, tell me what happened after that."

"The lady carried me into Reed's room and shut the door but the monster was gonna get through it so she opened the window and told us to climb out but we couldn't because it was a big drop and she started tying up a sheet but then the door broke and it came inside and and and then the lady picked up Reed and just threw him out the window and he screamed and there was this big crunch and then she threw Melly and then I was crying and she picked me up and threw me out the window and I don't remember after."

Amy was crying now, big wet tears.

"It's alright, little thing, you did so good, I'll make sure your brother and sister are good as new." He gave her one last pat on the head and stood up, turning to the Winchesters. Dean was looking at him, perplexed as they left the room.

"Well that was nice of you."

"The word you're looking for is pragmatic, we needed to know what she knew."

"You could have threatened her."

"Is that what you would have done? Threatened the seven year old?"

"No, but I'm not the King of Hell."

Crowley rolled his eyes, "well boys, I have a deal to keep." And he did keep it, of course. It wasn't a large matter to knit up the broken children, although they were rather badly damaged.

His mind, however, was occupied. If Mary had had only enough time to toss children out of the window, children she had obviously been trying to save, what had become of her? Had she escaped the clutches of Amy's monster? She could be dying, she could already be dead.

**XXXXX**

He rematerialized outside of her motel room and peered in anxiously. She was there, collapsed inside the door, lying motionless on the floor. He flickered inside hurriedly, kneeling beside her. He turned her over and felt for breath. It was there, but shallow. A gash was opened across her shoulder, cut deep, to the bone. Blood pumped steadily out of it, but that was not the only thing issuing from the wound. It bursts and gasps small bits of blue light trickled out, disappearing into the air.

Crowley's breath was coming fast, he didn't know how to heal a wound like this, was that her soul leaking out of her?

One of her eyes opened partially. Her focus waivered, "Crow, hey….are you okay?"

He frowned, confused, of course he was ok, she blinked a few times, "Can you help me to the bed? Where are we? Are we home?"

He lifted her carefully and laid her out on the bed, "No, love, we aren't at home." He didn't know what she meant but he wasn't about to needle her for information when she was this out of sorts.

"Why?"

"Shh," he said, "I'm going to fix you." He couldn't just magic her back together, that would take a deal, and he didn't' think now was the time to be negotiating, perhaps old fashioned stitching her up.

She laughed, sort of, in halting jerks, "You always do this, get all lost, you know how to fix this, get the knife."

He pulled the elegant knife from her sheath and held it in his hand. It fit him, perfectly, each of his fingers slid without hitch into the tooling of the hilt, the weight was perfect, and it was _gorgeous._

"What are you waiting for? Burn it closed."

He rose to heat the knife, but at his thought flame licked up its blade until it seared. He used one hand to carefully hold the wound closed, and the other to burn the wound shut step by step down her shoulder. The smell of burning flesh filled the little room, but she didn't scream out, just clenched her teeth, as though this was nothing to be overly concerned about. When he was finished, the blade cooled itself and he returned it to her sheath. She gave him a crooked and pained smile, "You all done?"

He nodded then realized she had shut her eyes again and said, "Yes,"

She seemed to be fazing in and out of delirium but was obviously not aware, it was convincing him, without doubt, however, that she knew him. But he still had not memory of her. She was acting as though she not only knew him, but had worked with him, had worked with him fighting this monster. Perhaps he had.

He suddenly had a sinking, creeping sensation, the monster clearly did damage to souls, could that affect memory? Had he forgotten this girl? She acted as though they had been lovers, but more than the lucrative and political lovers he had had in the past, like Lillith, she acted as though they had been _companions._

Had he had a girl like this? Who so intrigued him, who trusted him to find her and heal her, perhaps had found and healed him? Had he had a companion such as that and _forgotten about her?_

A bizarre heat filled his chest. _That wasn't fair_. He knew, of course, that it didn't matter that it wasn't fair, that the world didn't dole out due to fairness. But, and he hadn't realized until now, when one had been draped in front of him, he had _wanted_ a companion, someone on whom he could rely. He had never been able to trust anyone. And to have someone who he knew was on his side, who he knew would heal him when he was injured, or defend him, someone who would never betray him, or trick him, or con him. He burned for that. Had that just been taken away from him? Had that monster taken that away from him?

She was unconscious now, but her vitals were stronger, she seemed to be taking the still smoking burn and loss of an incredible amount of blood much better than a regular human. She was, he thought, more sleeping than unconscious. He would stay with her, though. He leaned down and brushed his lips across her forehead. He was determined, at least, to know what he had lost.

**XXXXX**

**XXXXX**

**AN: Hey guys! Thanks for reading! As always, throw some review's my way (THEY FUEL MY HEARTFIRE AND MAKE ME SQUEEL!) And if you want, find me on tumblr as VoteKingCrowleyFanfiction!**

**Until next time, darlings!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:**

She hadn't woken for more than three days. She alternated between heavy sweats and shaking chills. She murmured in her sleep, terrible things, wonderful things. And Crowley tended her. He had never so much tended anything. Even when he had been a human, he hadn't cared so closely for someone. Most of it had not been too uncomfortable, moving blankets, putting cold compresses on her forehead, tending the wound. But some of it had been awful. For hours she had sobbed, her whole body had seized, and the pain in her choking voice had been unbearable.

Thank the fires below she wasn't sobbing anymore, just shivering in her blankets. Crowley sat next to her, carefully wrapping the blankets tight around her. Then suddenly her eyes flew open, Crowley jumped slightly.

"You're awake."

She pushed herself up, looking dizzy and bleary. "Yeah…where are we?"

"Your dirty motel room," he answered shortly.

"Dirty…oh…" her face hardened, her eyes got a bit clearer, "What are you doing here?" Her voice was more harsh than it had been.

He sneered at her, "I saved you. I burned your wound shut, you were bleeding out your soul and I healed you, stayed with you for three days. You would have died in the doorway if I weren't here, you ungrateful twit."

She sat back, looking almost abashed, "Oh. You saved me?"

"Yes, that's what I've been saying."

"Why?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, "you don't get to interrogate me." He said evenly, he had not labored over her unconscious form for three days so that he could answer uncomfortable questions, he had labored over her unconscious form for three days so that she could answer uncomfortable questions. Unreasonably enraged he stalked toward the door, she could heal herself. Damn her.

"Wait."

He stopped and turned. "You can stay," she said softly, "If you want."

He did want to. He kept his distance, leaning against the chest of drawers. "Why did you kill those people? At that store."

She laughed darkly, "Death was better than what they could have gotten, if I hadn't been there."

He raised an eyebrow, "The Winchesters don't see it like that, you know, you're number one on their list."

She flinched like he had struck her, "Do they know? What the creature does? The real one?"

"They have their suspicions."

This was easier, talking about monsters and Winchesters, he didn't say things like _I don't want to be alone_. He tried not to flinch.

"Do _you_ know what he does?"

"He? And no, not really. The souls, what does he do with them?"

"Eats them."

"…eats them? So they don't go anywhere they're just-"

"-gone." She finished for him.

He laughed, "So you're a hunter. _Saving people._"

She looked at him, straightening her back and jutting her jaw proudly, "Yes."

He shook his head, "You'll have a hard time convincing Moose and Squirrel not to murder you, regardless."

She furrowed her brow, "Moose and Squirrel?" she seemed to grasp his meaning and smiled, almost as quickly her smile hitched, "Which one is Squirrel?"

"Dean. The short one."

She smiled softly, nostalgically to herself. Then she caught herself and straightened her expression, "What do you know about them? The Winchesters."

"Well I saw that you had been doing your homework on them. And you took a motel room right next to theirs, I saw you listening to them. To Dean." He had planned to say more, really interrogate her. But she was flagging, she needed rest. He cut himself off. "Look, you need to rest. Sleep."

She shook her head, "Nah, I hate sleeping while I'm still healing, I get…the worst dreams."

Crowley rolled his eyes, "Fine, stay awake."

Nevertheless she lay back down, keeping flat on her back to not hurt her shoulder, she closed her eyes and let out a pained sort of moan. "Would you….read to me?"

"You want me to read those silly _Supernatural_ books to you? Outloud?" he sneered.

She nodded, looking cozy and, he despaired, very cute.

He removed his shoes, sat on the opposite side of the bed, back resting against the headboard "Fine."

He clicked his fingers and there appeared a supernatural book his hand, the one she been so keenly working on before.

She smiled sleepily at him, "Skip the racy parts, will you?"

He made a face, "You wound me."

**XXXXX**

Her healing continued as such for three further days. She was still bedridden. He brought her food, kept her relatively clean, and read to keep her from sleep for as possible. For when she nodded off, she would scream out, sob, and thrash. She would also, on occasion, smile and laugh and sigh. But these didn't seem to weigh out the screaming, sobbing and thrashing.

Crowley was preparing a new bandage for was brushing her fingers over her wound. They physical would had healed fast, already scabbing over. She flinched when she touched it. Then she jumped, "I'm wearing a different shirt. I'm wearing your shirt. Is this your shirt?"

She was indeed. Her shirt had been all but destroyed and he had had to cut it off to tend to her wound. She hadn't had any button front shirts, so he had given her one of his, so he could easily undress and dress the wound.

"Yes," he responded, "That's one of mine, so I could tend your wound. Don't worry, I did nothing untoward."

She touched the shirt softly and looked up at him. In a tender voice, much more tender than she had used toward him before she spoke, "Thank you, Crowley."

"You're welcome. But this does bring up a question I've been meaning to ask. What is your name?"

She grimaced, "I said before, Mary."

He laughed coldly, "No it isn't." He leaned forward, insistent, "You're lying, and there is no reason to, unless, as I'm beginning to suspect, you know me. And you can't deny it now, while you were hurt, you spoke to me like a companion, told me how to tend your wound, trusted me to care for you. While you were unconscious you _called out to me._ Now tell me, _Mary,_ how do you know me?"

"You're more than three hundred years old, you've probably known a lot of people you don't remember."

He frowned, "Stop lying to my, girl, tell me what I need to know."

Her voice grew harsh again, rushed, "I've never known you," she gave him a cold, twisting sneer, "But it worked didn't it, you fixed me up, watched me for three days, all because I gave you sweet sad eyes!"

He gripped her wrist and twisted it, "You dare to –" then he stopped, staring at that sneer. He knew that sneer. Had perfected that sneer. "….are you…conning _me?"_

She looked taken aback, "No…I…Crowley…you seem to think that we have some bond…but you're wrong. Why would it even matter if I knew you…you don't know me."

"It matters."

"Why?" her voice was growing desperate, "Why could I possible interest you? Go kill angels, go collect magical artifacts, make deals, steal souls, GO RULE HELL." Her voice had risen to a fury, "Don't you have something better to do that track me around, heal me up, ask me questions. DON'T YOU HAVE EVERYTHING YOU WANT?!"

His voice rose with hers, "JUST TELL ME IF I AM SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHO YOU ARE! You forgot where you were, what you knew when your soul was leaking out of you, did that creature attack me? Did I forget who I am? Did I forget you? TELL ME WHAT YOU ARE TO ME!"

"I can't Crowley, why do you have to ask for that? For that, out of anything, why do you have to ask me the one thing I can't give you? Why do you have to know if you know me? Why does it matter to you if you knew me? Why is it so important?"

His voice, sharp and desperate, lashed from his lips before he could consider it, "BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO BE ALONE!"

She looked at him, muddy nearly green eyes cutting into his, they looked ravaged, he could not truthfully say if his looked any better.

She raised a quaking hand to his face and held it to his cheek softly. There was no saving his dignity now, so instead of attempting to he gave in to his impulse and leaned his face against her hand. She caressed him with her thumb and he closed his eyes to the sensation. He leaned toward her, her eyes, like his, were lidded and not looking away.

A fraction of an inch from her, he turned his head slightly, letting his lips touch hers, he did not dare to speak. She didn't move. He waited a few breaths then, pressed his lips softly against hers. Her hand tightened on his face and she returned his kiss with desperation. Her fingers curled in his hair, like he liked. Just like he liked. Her hand tugged at the absolute perfect spot, neither too roughly nor too soft. Her lips moved against his in such perfect ways. She kissed him as though she had been specially designed for kissing him. It was electricity.

She pulled her head back, suddenly and fiercely, "I can't"

He felt like the world was tilting beneath him, he growled, "Why not?" When she moved away from him he felt like his orbit was changing.

She breathed harshly, "Look at the scar this wound will leave, you've seen the others, I'm sure. Leaking soul leaves marks, marks you don't have. You have never known me."

**AN: I hope you liked it! The next installment might be up tomorrow! And thank you to all my beautiful reviewers, I got such a downpour of affection from them for the last chapter, it made me so bright and cheery, so thank you all VERY MUCH. It makes my heart all warm that you guys like my story!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Kitten**

Crowley sat on his elegant black leather spinning chair twirling aimlessly behind his broad mahogany desk. He had recently claimed a new and more well defended office. It was a beautiful office, large, picture windows, dark stained bookshelves, thick, soft carpet. A lovely office. He had returned to his duties and King of Hell, even if he was, at the moment, the contested King of Hell. He had looked for that blade, and was nearly upon it, collected demons loyal to him and was nearly ready to reassert himself as King. By all accounts, he should be very pleased with himself, and being pleased with himself was something he was normally very good at. _Very good at._

It was late, he held a tumbler of scotch in his hand that he was sipping idly. Regardless of the opulence around him, he was...discontented. He had been doing much consideration of his emotional state. He had wanted that girl, _desperately _wanted her. But...he wasn't sure that he really wanted _her._ He knew nothing about her. She was intriguing, a capable fighter, willing to push back when most backed down. Those were attractive qualities. But beyond her mystery, which he was still interested in figuring out, he didn't know her. He had nearly convinced himself, worked very hard at convincing himself, that his only real desire was for companionship. He had been alone since... since. He had always been alone, even as a human he had never _loved_ someone, he had always assumed that would be opening a wound. But then, he had always thought of it as love letters and trysts. He was beginning to yearn for something more...companionable.

He leaned back in his chair and swirled his scotch, finishing it in a last swig. His mind, as he sat in the quiet light of the fire in the hearth beyond his desk, began to draw up designs. He couldn't help but imagine a girl, oh by the fires of Hell _the _girl, coming into his office. Refilling his scotch. Sitting on the arm of his desk. She would look over the work in front of him. She would lean against him, perhaps she would have wine. White wine. She would be holding an elegant glass of white wine and curled up against his shoulder. She would feel the tension in his body and ask him about his day because she wanted to know about his day, rather than out of propriety. He would scowl and snarl about his misbegotten plans, his small failures, the minor demon betrayals and failings. He would get too upset, snarl and shout, she would loosen his tie and kiss his brow, try to soothe him, _soothe him_. She would be his council, his adviser, perhaps, his queen.

He shook his head. This was a silly daydream. He wanted the companionship she hinted at much more desperately than he wanted that girl specifically. He at least recognized that. There would be other girls, wouldn't there? He would find another woman who would be brave enough to charge him down in a library and fascinating enough to convince him to spend three days healing her. He groaned and suddenly felt oppressively lonely.

He got up, he needed to move, or do something. He wanted to talk to her, unravel her secrets. He was filled with an unqenchable zeal and, crackling with energy, was determined to hunt her down and kiss her again. He sat heavily, drained as quickly as he had been energized. He leaned his head back against the chair, he growled to himself and rolled his head to look at his decanter. It was empty. He really needed another scotch.

The door creaked open and there was a gentle knock. His head shot up, hand going to the angel blade secured under his desk.

Mary stood in the doorway, leaning against the jam.

"This is a surprise." He wasn't going to really question how she found his new office, there were more important questions he had.

"May I come in?" She asked politely, "I come bearing gifts." She held up a bottle of amber liquid.

He smiled briefly, "Yes, come in."

She came in slowly, unsurely. "I wanted to apologize."

He waved his hand, he didn't want her apologies.

"You can make it up to me by answering my questions."

She walked around his desk and held up the bottle questioningly, it was his brand, he nodded. She sat on the arm of his chair and refilled his scotch. "I'll answer your questions." Her tone was soft. Sad.

He looked up at her, "You were so careful about your secrets before, now you're willing to tell all?"

She was looking out the dark window. In this lighting, leaning on his armrest, she looked elegant. She had discarded her youthful floral skirts, she was wearing a flowing silvery shirt, it clung to her body enticingly, well fitting black pants. If that ring on her finger she always twirled were not missing its stone, she really might look like a queen. Her hair was done up in complicated twists he hadn't seen in a few hundred years. He like them.

"Where did you lose the stone?" he asked, touching the ring, carefully not touching her skin.

She laughed and sighed, "Southern Spain, in the sea."

He sipped his drink and smiled at her, "Was it worth it?"

She laughed again, a long, real laugh, and again she became a beauty. Her delicately aligned face was lit by the fire in the grate and her laughter resonated through his chest. Her eyes were dark and nearly glistening."I lost it swimming in crystal water in the moonlight and it was only a diamond. Yes, it was worth it."

"Alone?"

She looked down at him, her eyes fixing for a long moment on his lips, "No, I wasn't alone."

He let his hand graze from the metal of the ring onto her fingers, he spoke in a low and gravely near whisper, "The man you were with, was it the same one who gave you the ring?"

She lowered her voice, a caramel alto hush trickling from her lips, "Yes."

"How did he feel that you had lost the stone?"

She smiled then, a nostalgic smile, "He told me he would overturn every stone in the sea to find it."

"And did he?"

"Overturn every stone? Yes."

"And find it?"

She looked at him for many moments, "No, there were some things even he couldn't accomplish."

A long, unnerved silence stretched between them, her eyes hesitantly combing him.

"This scotch is good." He said to quell the tension.

She smiled warmly, "I know."

She leaned back, her shoulder against his, he wished he had some wine to offer her, "So, who is this queen threatening your throne?"

Crowley groaned, "You want to talk about my politics?"

She nodded, "Your politics will be enough for now."

Crowley withheld his smirk, "Her name is Abadon, a knight of Hell."

She took his glass, allowing her fingers to sweep his, as he had, and sipped some of his scotch, "Well, King trumps Knight. You'll get your throne."

He took his glass back and finished it, "Thank you for your encouragement. Do you have anything more useful than well meant adages?"

She exhaled sharply through her nose, "What did you have in mind? Military assistance?"

"If you've any to offer." he jibed back.

"Oh yes, you talk to your allies and make deals, and I'll don my armor and lead your legions and together we will be an unstoppable force of Hell."

Crowley looked at her, "Yes."

She smiled darkly at him, "Do you always let girls come in off the street and take your legions?"

He wiggled his eyebrows at her, "No, but I've seen you in armor and you're worth the risk."

She laughed, really laugh, head thrown back, peals of laughter falling from her lips like gold, "This is what I can offer, show more mercy than she does, Crowley, she's a Knight of Hell, she'll be acting like a tyrant, act like a leader."

He scoffed, "They're demons, darling, not wayward soldier poets."

"So are you."

"What?"

She grinned mischievously at him, and poured him more scotch, "You're a demon, Crowley, and when you were ruled by a tyrant you rebelled. If you want to rule Hell for good, you need real loyalty, not scared, better than the other option loyalty."

"I'll take it into consideration."

She stood up, "I have to go, Crowley, I have...something I should have done a long time ago." She looked suddenly cripplingly sad. "This has been nice."

"Come anytime."

She walked to the door and stopped. She touched the doorway and turned around again, "Crowley, can I ask you a favor...I know you don't owe me anything."

"You might as well ask."

She stared at him and in a tremulous, soft voice that belayed her previous confidence asked brittley, "Tell me 'Goodnight,' call me 'Kitten,'" she paused and looked at him with large eyes and bit her lip, "Kiss me."

He rose and walked deliberately toward her, not breaking eye contact. He allowed his eyes to be softened. He stopped right before her and tenderly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his hands carefully and firmly on the sides of her face he leaned toward her and kissed her. It wasn't like before. It wasn't desperate, he was soft and she responded with a kiss that was almost sad,she touched his face, running her fingers across his bone structure, as though she was trying to commit him to memory.

He leaned back and looked at her, straight into her eyes, hand cupping her cheek, "Goodnight, kitten." he whispered. She stood quite still, her breath ragged and broken, eyes glimmering, then turned and fled from the room.

He stood without moving, looking at where she had been. He could have an evening like that every night. He turned to go back to his desk and stopped dead. That stunt there at the end, asking him to kiss her. The way she had looked at him, it was upon him all of a sudden, she was saying goodbye.

A thrill cut through him and a spike of hot dread.

**XXXXX**

Moments later he appeared in the middle of the Winchester encampment, yelling for them to awaken with ferocity. As it turned out, neither of them were asleep.

"Woah, Crowley, you gotta learn how to knock."

Crowley snarled at Dean, "There is going to be another attack, tonight, now, there are humans to save." The last bit he added only to get their attention.

Dean took the demon blade off his bedstand and sheathed it, "How do you know?"

"I talked to the girl, from the videos."

Sam gaped at him, "You have contact with her? Where is she?"

"Just come with me!"

It was perhaps a testament to how desperate he seemed that they came with him, even if Dean grumbled about it more than really necessary.

He didn't even really know if he was right, she could have just been leaving, but his partially human blood pumped with terror that this was what she had meant.

**XXXXX**

The Winchesters were less impressed by the direness of the situation when it became clear that Crowley had no idea where to lead them. He knew that she was somewhere in this town, about to tussle with that creature, or already tussling. How did he not know?

As the search continued passed a half an hour the Winchesters' trust began to flag along with Crowley's hope. Although, if he let himself, he could convince himself to believe that he had been wrong, that she was fine, that he would see her again.

In the end, it was luck.

They were heading up a quiet street when a child had sprinted passed them, terror filling his dark eyes. Crowley, hedging a bet that in a town like this there was likely to be only one thing causing that sort of terror at a time, grabbed him, lifted him in the air.

"Where are they?"

"HEY." Dean growled, "Put him down, you dick."

Crowley shook the boy, "WHERE?"

Terrified tears falling down his little cheeks the boy pointed up the street, there was one house with a light on, shining through a door hanging from its hinges. Crowley dropped the boy and, without looking back to him, careened toward the door. At the edge of the door Dean seized the back of his jacket and held him back.

"Release me, behemoth."

"Shut it, Crowley, you wanna just run in there with no idea what we're up against?"

Crowley flicked his wrist and sent Dean crashing backwards through the hedges. He went through the door, snarling. He could smell sulfur and something pleasant, taste terror that clung in the air.

A crash echoed from the second floor, and gave aim to his madness. He looked manically for the staircase and, upon locating it, took them three at a time.

He moved with all of his speed but it seemed to him that the air was viscous and holding him back, as in a dream when you can't properly run. From somewhere on the second floor he could hear a voice, a deep male voice, harsh and firm echoing in gravelly bursts interspersed with rough laughter, "We're where we always are, if you get close enough to use that little letter opener you'll be close enough for me."

He rounded the corner and looked through an open doorway.

Her back was to him but over her shoulder he could see the monster they had been hunting, his eyes were pupilless, long, sharp fangs jutting out of his mouth, his fingers ended in long, hooked claws and those wings. The spread out around him like death. Blackened skin with mottled feathers. Regardless of the horror he was armed with, the monster's face was what ignited Crowley's fear, it was a familiar face, a face he could never forget, that was not obscured by a mouth filled with fangs. It was Castiel.

She had that knife in her hand, and it looked so small. She moved before Crowley could and for a moment it was as though the motion had stopped and Crowley could only stand rigid and see what was before him. She had changed clothing. This shouldn't have been important enough to note at a time like this. But she was wearing a leather jacket, it was big on her, made for a man. Dirty jeans cuffed over heavy work boots. She launched herself forward and time fled away from him, moving even faster than it should have.

She was upon the beast, _Castiel_, his claws ripped into her, gripping her sides and raking down them. Blood came out of her body in spurts, one of his hands slashed into her chest and she screamed, a cleaving noise that shattered Crowley. Blue light twisting up his arm and illuminated his face. But her knife was driven home. Deep in Castiel's throat. He sputtered, snarling and gnashing those fangs, he fell back, his wings flapping feebly to help keep his balance. In vein. He collapsed, black and blue light crackling out of his wound. It had not been elegant, nor full of drama, it had just been brief and messy and final.

She was on the ground. Blood pouring from her wound. The tshirt under her jacket was frayed and destroyed. Crowley fell to his knees in her blood, trying to hold her flesh closed. Her body was unnaturally, too quickly cold. He gripped her. But she wasn't there. Her life extinguished, her soul devoured.

He screamed into the ceiling. Anger thundering through him. It wasn't fair. It wasn't _fair._ He had just gotten her. He had just come to terms with needing someone and someone had been there, and nearly been his. It wasn't fair. The loneliness he had felt before crushed in upon him and he couldn't breath. He got madly to his feet, he stepped darkly to the wall and slammed his fist into it, fury trying desperately to escape his ruined body.

**AN: OOOH YEAH GUYS! I've been looking forward to this one! I hope you guys had as much fun as I did! And thanks to all you lovely reviewers who leave me such beautiful notes! I look forward to them every time!**

**ANPS: I don't want anyone to be confused, this isn't the end of the story. There is much more on its way. **


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Short note on format: This chapter contains a long passage of writing, the writing, when given in short snippets will be italicized but due to that being **_**really irritating to read in long passages**_**, when there is a long passage of writing it will be blocked off by the usual XXXXX then properly labeled. There will be more of this sort of thing in the ensuing chapters, please let me know if you harbor any confusion, thanks so much!**

**Chapter 9: The Answers You Have Waited So Patiently For**

The Winchesters came up the stairs in a torrent of movement, blades drawn. They stopped, stunned by the sight before them. They lowered their knives.

Crowley was suddenly sick with the idea that they would loot her, he crouched by her body again, touching it reverently. Sam, open mouthed, was staring at her.

Sam walked slowly toward Crowley, eyes fixed on her body. Brows knitted together in confusion, he reached out, Crowley nearly flinched away, but his eyes looked only curious. With odd disconcertion, Sam touched a gold pendent slung around her neck that Crowley hadn't noticed. The face of a close eyed man with broad horns.

"Dean?"

"Sammy?"

They spoke in unison, Sam's voice sounded concerned, but Dean's was filled with disbelief, heartache even. Sam looked around, Dean was kneeling too, over the other body, unsure fingers not quite touching the claws and fangs.

"It's Cas, Sammy."

Sam got up from his crouch next to the girl and went to his brother. In other circumstances Castiel turning up as a big toothed monster who ate souls would have been much higher on Crowley's to do list, but considering that the angel monster was already dead, he felt he was allowed to spend some time devastated that the girl was dead too.

"How can it be Cas, Dean? We just saw him...how long ago was it?

"Look at him, Sammy, how could it be anybody else?" He sounded defeated.

"Dean, I know what you're thinking, this isn't your fault because you kicked him out of the bunker."

For the moment Crowley ignored their rampant self blame. He was trying to zip up her jacket, he wouldn't call her by her silly fake name, not now. She had never done him the courtesy of giving him a real name, so she could live on in pronouns.

He just wanted to keep her wrapped up, it was a ridiculous idea. A soft headed idea, but it seemed important and he wasn't in a state to curb small indulgences. There was, however, something rather large tucked inside the jacket. He glanced at the Disconsolate Duo. They were consoling each other or blaming each other loudly, he couldn't tell, there was a ringing in his ears he couldn't quite shake. The injustice of her death rumbled through him then, how dare she allow him to create such beautiful dreams of companionship then run off and die. In equal parts he wanted to burn her to nothing and preserve her body for time immemorial. He in vain tried to zip the jacket again and, unable to cope with the bulge down its left side she reached under her jacket and withdrew a battered, tan leather journal. A thrill jolted him, if she had left this, perhaps left it for him, the answers he wanted might be inside. Her name. Where in the name of Purgatory she came from. Ruthlessly, he pulled open the leather flap that secured the cover and opened it.

The front inside cover was emblazoned **HW** in an official looking brand. Above that there were military awards pinned into it in neat rows. Beneath the awards, however, was a snapshot, taken with an old Polaroid camera that Crowley found much more interesting. The picture was faded and looked old, remarkably old. The photo showed two people sitting on the hood of that metal heap the Winchesters were so proud of. The largest of the two was quite obviously Dean though he looked a little more weathered, he was grinning with his arm around a tiny girl. She looked no older than six, an adult man's jacket hanging off her shoulders and a large, messy smile splitting her face. Her dark hair looked tangled and there was, perhaps motor oil, streaked across her face. His breath hitched and he stared, uncomprehendingly at the photo. Finally, blinking with the effort of bending his voice into obedience he called out.

"Boys," Crowley called to them, "I'm fairly certain you're going to be interested in this."

"Not now about your girl, Crowley," Dean snarled.

"Moose," Crowley crooned, "I understand that Squirrel is devastated that his angel boytoy grew teeth, but, because we just shared a bonding moment together, I'm going to allow you a single chance to come see this thing you are going to be greatly interested in before I ferret it away in Hell and set a legion of Hellhounds to keep it from your grasp just to spite you." He was not in the mood to be brushed off.

Sam turned away from Dean and Castiel to look at what Crowley was inspecting. "Dean!" He said in his put on growl, hitting Snarling Squirrel on the shoulder. "Its-...Its Dad's journal." That got his attention.

Both of the boys walked over to Crowley and crouched next to him.

Dean snatched the journal from Crowley's hands. His body seemed to be moving slower than he was used to, the commands to his muscles had, it seemed, a few stops to make before they reached their destination. Dean held the journal. He had closed it, he was looking over the front cover,feeling the flaws in the leather, fingerpads gently pressing on it. He, as Crowley had, carefully pulled the strap back ,opining it. He touched first the **HW **Then, each of the awards, checking them with slow patience, like the was looking for flaws. Then finally he got to the picture, a picture he had been, until this point, ignoring. Crowley watched his fingers shake while he pulled the photo out of its paper clip attachment and looked at it more closely, "Is that...me? Sammy," He asked, his voice was soft uncertain whisper, "that's me. Who the hell is the kid?"

Sam took it from him and turned it over, on the back was written in slanted blue ink, _'Lessons with Baby, 6__th__ Birthday, '35'_ Dean looked unnerved, "Sam, is that...that's me...is that kid? What the hell? Sammy, what the hell?"

Crowley meanwhile turned his attention to the journal itself, he though the assumption that the journal held by the girl in question might have a few more answers than a man who couldn't control his own sideburns. It was the three ringed kind that you could add more pages to it was full to the bursting. He began idly flipping through the pages, the first were filled with inked drawings, esoteric codes scribbled into margins. He stopped at a few pages, Sam gave commentary, "Those are our Dad's, that's his journal."

Crowley gave him a demeaning smile, "Yes, I actually had puzzled that together for myself when you growled, 'Dean, It's Dad's Journal.'"

Sam sneered at him, annoyed. A third of the way through the pages changed slightly, the contents also altered, smaller, scratchier handwriting, fewer drawings. Along with the hand, the journal also seemed to be being used slightly differently. The first third, John's, was a log of what he happened to be fighting, notes mostly for himself. This part was labeled and organized by monster. There was a page labeled '_Vampires'_ and beneath it logs of information, how to kill one, where they had been seen, phone numbers of vampire hunters, or hunters killed by vampires. All labeled, made for a person different from the person who wrote it. In the back there was a brief enochian lexicon. Sam interrupted again, "Dean, this is your handwriting."

"Sammy, this can't be Dad's journal, I've got Dad's journal in the trunk."

Continuing to ignore them, Crowley flipped passed apparently Dean's entries in the journal, he was hoping she had written something, even a note perhaps, a name? He was not disappointed. It wasn't as though he didn't have an interest in the parts of the journal mysteriously written by Dean. They all had fought Castiel perhaps, they all had lost pieces. Was he still sure that was how it worked?

The last third changed again. Again it was slightly different paper, and again, the handwriting changed. It was written in a pretty, elegant cursive hand, clearly feminine when juxtaposed to the hunter's scrawl in the rest of the journal. The top of the page was labeled clearly.

_THE ANSWERS I PROMISED_

Dean and Sam were reading over Crowley's shoulder, they must have looked ridiculous all crowding around a small book, but none of them were in a state to notice. The first few lines had devoured their attention.

_My name first, I suppose, you've been waiting so patiently. I could list them, you know, for pages, the names I've had, I could go on for volumes all of the stories attached to them. But I don't have much time, so I'll start with my first. The name I was born under. _

_Bobby Winchester._

_Born March 20__th__ , 2029 to Dean Winchester and a Woman I was never introduced to. I'll keep my preamble brief:_

_I'm breaking the rules writing this down, you're learning things too soon. But the worry is always that you'll change things if you know too much about what's going to happen, and I'm very much hoping that you do. I don't have the space to write down everything, that would take centuries of writing and libraries of books. But I can tell you this one story, the one that all the other ones come from. Its hard to know where to start, the beginning could have been so many places. I'm going to write down the story you need, but other pieces too, pieces I most don't want to lose. Because if I succeed I won't die. If I succeed my soul will be gone forever, I will be gone, and I want something of my favorite hours to be remembered. _

_P.S. Crowley, I'm sorry for the turmoil I caused you, pardon a woman doomed her few indulgences. _

Dean was pale faced, Sam spluttered, "Time travel? You think...angels? Dean, that might not really be Cas."

Crowley turned the page and read on, if they fell behind it wasn't his problem.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester **

My youngest memory and one I hold most precious to me, I was barely four and sitting in the car with my father. _The_ car, his car, the car he took everywhere as though it was his home. It was, of course, but I didn't quite know that yet. It was late for me and we had had a big day. It may have been my birthday, but it may not have been. But we had gone to a mall, exciting in and of itself, and I had gotten new pretty dresses. Even then you couldn't keep me out of a pretty dress. We had Orange Juliuses and split a Cinnebun. I remember that my belly hurt a , the best part, we had driven out of town and pulled over. Dad balanced some cans on a railing and taken a gun out of the trunk. I couldn't lift it on my own but he stood behind me, kneeling on the ground with his arms around me, holding the gun, his finger curled around mine on the trigger. He told me, in a soft voice in my ear, how to aim, then we had shot down the cans. My first time ever shooting a gun. I had been gleeful.

The ride home seemed long, I was young and very tired. I unbuckled my seatbelt and scooted over to the middle to lean against Dad's arm, he looked down at me and lifted his arm, and pulled me against his chest, inside his jacket. I burrowed into his side, warm and sleepy. He draped his arm over me and I slept, contented. For regardless of the monster were in the dark, how could I be in any danger under the arm of my father. He had saved the world. He was a hero.

When I woke up, as is the privilege of children, I was tucked into my own bed in my own room, deep in the enclave of The Bunker. My room, I had been allowed to decorate it myself, although Dad helped, I wasn't old enough to have deciphered the mystery of keeping things securely on walls. So my walls were covered in pictures I had drawn in crayon. Equally divided between the puppy I so desperately wanted, every flower, real or fake, that I could imagine, and my father defeating monsters. The only parts of my room I couldn't cover up or destroy were sigils on my walls and the demon trap above the door. Although, as per my request, those were pink.

I didn't bother getting dressed, but remained in the pajamas dad had put me in the night before, which I now blearily remembered. My favorite, they were footie pajamas, all my jams were, floors were cold this far underground. But these were special, they had been a gift, I couldn't remember from whom, but I do remember taking them out of pink sparkling wrapping paper. They were, at the time, one of my most treasured possessions. They were all white with a pink belly and short pink tail and cute little pink wings that stuck out on the back. And, my favorite part, a little horse head hood with a pink mane and soft silver unicorn horn.

So still in my favorite pajamas, that I would have worn every minute of every day had I been allowed, I zipped from my room, slipping a little on the stone floors. I made my way up to the library where I knew Dad would be with coffee. But, this morning, I was greeted with a pleasant surprise.

"UNCLE CASSY UNCLE CASSY!" I shouted in glee and, running into the library at full speed I flung myself upward into Cas's arms. He caught me, as he always did, and gave me his little head tilting gaze. I imitated him, small, furrowed brow and everything. I giggled and peppered his face with children's kisses in delight. It wasn't often that he was around, but I treasured it when he was. He wasn't playful like he usually was, I was abjectly disappointed. He set me down.

"Dean," he said to my dad, "We have things we need to discuss."

"Bobby, go eat some breakfast." I nodded and shuffled out of the room, understanding what it was to be dismissed.

In hindsight, this was the beginning of the end. And it happened much to near the beginning for my liking. I don't think I was taken out of the bunker more than twice after that.

**XXXXX**

By the time I was about eight, I hadn't been more than a few miles from the bunker in years. It was not as hellish as you might suspect. It was nearly all I had ever known and if you get down to it, most children spend their whole young lives a few miles from their home. But I couldn't leave the bunker without Uncle Cas or my father.

Now that I was a little older, I was beginning to recognize the worry my father was collecting. He had never been a particularly happy man, but he was sleeping less and less. He would forget to make meals, disappear for days at a time, leaving me locked away in the bunker. It wasn't a terrible fate, I could make macaroni and microwave ravioli for myself, although I had taken to hiding the cans deep in the garbage when I did, they made Dad sad to see them. I was never sad to cook for myself, although I preferred the hamburgers and fries my Dad would make me to canned ravioli, I thought of it as a contribution to my Dad's noble effort. He was a hero, which meant always saving people, and didn't mean always being home for dinner.

He had given up trying to keep my from knowing about monsters. It was impossible to convince even the smallest child that Uncle Cassy was a human, and it would have been a difficult job to shield a child from the existence of monsters while she was growing up in the headquarters of the Men of Letters. Not that there were any Men of Letters. Uncle Sammy had been one, Dad told me, when he drank whiskey and told me stories. The stories were always about people he said were family, but had died before I was born. Uncle Sammy, Auntie Charlie, Grampa John and Gramma Mary. Bobby. He was my favorite for the childhood reason that we shared a name. That I was name _after_ him, which made him extra important. These stories were my primary source of entertainment. For although they were infrequent, I had used their cast as my imaginary playmates, as I spent most of my days alone.

I, of course, didn't think of it as playing, but training. I would sit in the library researching whatever monster I had decided was terrorizing the bunker, first you had to figure out what you were hunting, then, how to kill it. So those were my steps, sometimes it was a ghost with an elaborate and imminently tragic history, there had been a lot of murdered puppies that needed vengeance in those days. Or a bloodthirsty vampire, or a creeping ghoul. But, of course, I _had_ to bring someone along, you can't hunt alone.

So I chose from my store of companions. It wasn't often Uncle Sammy, it was hard to separate him from the chill of despair that crept into Dad's voice when he talked about him, even the happy stories. He had been my Dad's brother, and died when I was just a baby. He didn't tell me how. But how desperately I wanted a brother. Another person to be locked up with. Being locked up with someone will bond you, being locked up alone will drive you mad. This was the lesson I learned throughout the first part of my history.

Play playmates also were not Grampa John either who, judging from the stories from Dad, wasn't very much fun. But Bobby would join me, calling me gruff names and being warmly impressed by my amazing hunting abilities. Or Gramma Mary, since we both grew up hunters, she and I were almost the same.

I was in the middle of one of these adventures, a djinn, this time, when I got my first glimmer into understanding. The djinn was hiding the the air ducts. Now, I was aware that they preferred ruins but not only did I not have access to ruins, I had recently discovered how to get into the air ducts and thus wanted every opportunity to explore them. Gramma Mary was with me, I remember.

Fully immersed in my game, it took me a moment to realize that I could hear my father talking to Uncle Cas below me. I stopped, trying to be silent.

"Don't you fucking dare, Cas." my father had raged. I flinched, knowing I wasn't intended to hear this.

Cas answered in his gruff tone, "I must, Dean, how could I walk away from this?"

"They're using you, Cas, why can't it be someone else?"

"We have a chance to destroy the demons, destroy them, Dean, not lock them up, get rid of them forever, and you want me to step down?"

"Yeah, and you remember how well it went when we tried to lock them up? Or when you tried to lock up heaven? Big fixes like this don't work, Cas, you're gonna get killed and probably take the world down with you."

"Do you have no faith in me, Dean?"

"You always screw it up, Cas, you try to help everybody and it never works. You die and I have to clean up your mess."

There was a rustle and I knew Uncle Cas was gone. I had never heard Dad talk to Uncle Cas like that, with that edge of meanness in his voice. He usually spoke to him with the gruffness that meant special affection. I was frightened. I very much so didn't want Cas to die, nor did I want to world to end. This part scared me less, like most children I didn't believe the world would really end. Dad would always be there to stop it. But I knew that people could die.

**XXXXX**

This was when I had my first secret from my father. I had found the blueprints to the air ducts. There were two sets. One, a small winding labyrinth were actual air ducts, impossible to move around in. The other, my air ducts, were escape hatches really, made to allow Men of Letters to flee, it was why Cas couldn't tell I was there, they were inlaid with every angel, monster, and demon magic they Men of Letters had. Unfortunately, they weren't made for eavesdropping so they only worked if the people I wanted to listen to happened to stand below them. Which was not often, my store of information was minimal and carefully guarded.

But they were my secret and I treasured them. I dragged my little world up there, cups, food, books. I made nests in the few corners there were and carved out my own private home. Later, I would be glad of this.

The day came, when I was hiding up in my favorite nook, reading with Bobby, other Bobby. He was my favorite reading companion. From beneath me I heard a voice I didn't recognize, something that got my full attention, it was so infrequent that I heard someone I didn't know. I couldn't remember, in fact, the last time I had, immediately, it was followed by my father's angry, hateful tone.

"Hello, Squirrel, it's been so long." This voice had an accent I had never heard except in movies. It was dark and gravely and dangerous.

"Crowley, how the hell did you get in here?"

The name chilled me, I had been warned about Crowley, demons in general yes, but Crowley specially. He was the King of Hell, the biggest and the baddest of the demons. My father had told me to never believe a word that came out of his mouth, and to _never_ no matter how smart I thought I was being, or how good it sounded, to take any deals from him. I lay on the floor of the duct, ear pressed to the floor. Listening.

My father spent awhile snarling but Crowley was unwilling to tell him how he had gotten in.

Crowley spoke again, in that villain's voice, "I hear the Squirrel has had a Kitten, aren't you going to introduce us?"

"Not a chance in Hell, douchbag. Leave."

Crowley ignored this, "Call off your boyfriend."

Dad said nothing.

Crowley continued, I didn't know what he looked like but I imagined a scaley black monster with red eyes and hulking bat wings. Although he probably just looked like a person. Most monsters did.

"Castiel's little spell, the one he thinks will be the bane of all demonkind? Stop him."

"Why, because I have so much fun talking to you?"

"First of all, you utter moron, because it will kill more than just the demons, to finish the spell, dear little Cas has to die too."

I gasped, but was not scared for long, despite my previous fears, I had convinced myself that Uncle Cas wasn't going to die, Dad would save him. Dad saved everyone. But a nagging thought came upon me for the first time, maybe Dad couldn't always save everyone, after all. I had always thought that the dead came from people whom _other _people failed to save but maybe my ghostly playmates people my father himself had allowed to die?

Neither of them said anything after that so I thought maybe Crowley had left. I huddled deep into my corner next of blankets, I was afraid.

**XXXXX**

I wish I could give you a better account of how this all happened, but I was a child locked in a bunker with only one, very reluctant, source of news. So I will relay what I can.

I was nine when my father came into my room. He looked stricken, almost like he had been crying, did Dad cry? I didn't even know he knew how.

"Uncle Cas is..." he stopped, fishing for the right word, "dead." I wanted to burst into tears, I wanted to tantrum and weep. I loved Uncle Cas, he had taken me flying once. But Dad looked so sad that I didn't think the bunker could handle us sad all at once. So I pressed my lips really tight and clenched my teeth.

My dad didn't saying anything else about Cas, only, "Don't go outside, don't go anywhere without a gun, even in the bunker."

The weeks passed in a slow burn of fear. My father was gone for long tracts of time. But he didn't leave me with ravioli alone anymore. When he left he made sure the bunker was fully stocked,he said I could live for years. Made sure I had emergency backpacks hidden in nearly every room. I knew every way out, every secret nook. He would wake me in the middle of the night and time me fleeing, but always stop me at the door, it had just been practice, to see how fast I could do it. I hadn't seen the sun in weeks. I would lock me in when he left. I, of course, knew the secret way out. But I never went. Just read and practiced shooting and hoped he would come back. I would have prayed, but he had ordered me not to. And, of course, I always had my gun with me, a tiny thing that fit into my hand, and a knife in my little boot.

**XXXXX**

I was ten when it all came down around me. I heard the door open, a sound I was deeply attuned to, I ran toward it, eager to have my father back home. I glimpsed him out the door but, before he was in it I screamed. Something was behind his shoulder. For less then a moment, I thought it was Uncle Cas, but he had fangs and claws and his wings like a smoldering demon. Dad turned, drawing a long knife. He slammed the door behind him, blocking my view. I sprinted toward the library, the nearest entrance to my enclave. I darted into it and crawled, pulling myself through the maze as fast as I was able.

I stopped at one of the exits, above the main door. The stone before me was enchanted by some old spell so I could see through it, though it was solid from outside. The Men of Letters had wanted their escapees to be able to tell if something was waiting for them. From there I could see it.

The monster Cas loomed above Dad, mouth pulled into a twisted grin.

Monster Cas leered, "Are you going to kill me, dear Dean? Can you? I'm the only one you have left!"

Dad answered by lunging at him, slashing him deep with the blade. But it did nothing. It tore his body open but it closed as fast as it had been wounded.

Monster Cas laughed in delight, "Oh, Dean! You WOUND me!" Then he laughed tyrannically. "But do you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to kill you, and I'm going to eat your soul. And, my dearest, oldest FRIEND, I'm going to break into your bunker and murder that darling little Bobby. But Dean, you know how I loved her, it will be hard for me to kill her, it might take me _a very long time."_

Dad let out a raging snarl and launched himself at Cas, but he had gotten in too close. Monster Cas grabbed him with one of his claws, the other delved deep into my father's chest, blood gushing out of him. I yelled out in panic as blue light crept from my father's wound, rolling up Castiel's arm, wrapping around him and sinking into his skin.

Cas hooted in delight, "Goodbye DEAN WINCHESTER," he cackled, pronouncing every syllable of his name like its own sentence.

My father's body dropped and Castiel laughed and laughed and laughed. A cold, snarling, animal laugh. Then the leapt into the air, beating his wings and flew off. I could hear my heart beating in my ears. But no other sound came in. My breath felt like knives in my chest. I scrambled out of the bunker, through the small exit and dropped down next to my father.

He was gone, unnaturally cold, unnervingly empty. I touched his wounds, my brain not able to put together my father and death. Hand shaking, I pulled his keys out of his jacket pocket and opened the door to the bunker. I wanted to bring him inside. I pulled, but I couldn't move him couldn't make him budge even an inch. So, unable to bring him home, I took relics. From his coat I took the journal, Grampa John's journal, although he had been adding to it, for me, he had said. And his wallet, because he had a picture inside that Cas had taken, he and I sitting on he hood of his car, his arm around me. It was after he had let me help him fix her. It was the only picture of us I had.

I went back into the bunker to fetch lighter fluid and a matchbook. He needed a hunter's funeral, even if it would be right where he fell. I climbed back through the escape hatch, I wanted to see outside before I dropped. It was good that I did. Castiel had returned. He was scratching at the door to the bunker, the manic grin still on his face.

"Bobby!" He crooned, "Come out, Come out! It's Uncle Cassy!"

His voice terrified me, it was Cas' but so much sharper, and his teeth clicked as he spoke. I lay at the edge of the hatch unmoving. Then, more of them came, first ten, then twenty, then more than I could see with my limited scope. A convent of monsters clawing at my door. I could hear the grating of the metal in every corner of the bunker, or so I thought, it may have been my mind punishing me. They left, eventually, after shrieking a discussion in a language I did not know. But I did not.

My father's body had not survived the meeting and there was nothing to burn. His journal, however, would prove my most valuable asset. I read it carefully, looking for any clues, hints to what they were. As it turned out, they had an entire entry, dog eared and everything. I won't rewrite it here, look in my father's section, under Hellions, it's alphabetized.

**XXXX**

**From the Journal of Dean Winchester**

**Hellions:**

Enochian 'myth' they were a legendary creature of the angels said to come to clear the demons from their holes. Don't bother looking for sources if you don't speak enochian. Created, not born, there's a spell but I don't know it, but you make a demon smoke out into the corpse of an angel. They'll call it a 'husk.'

The first one was made by the stupidest angel that's ever been given wings who volunteered like the moron he is. That's important, that they volunteer. So the angels turned Castiel into a Hellion and set him loose in Hell. Turns out the way they 'burn the demons from their godless holes,' is by eating them, _them them_ like the black smoke. And they're hungry dicks too. There's more than one now. But theres a big difference between the ones that volunteered and the ones that didn't. If they were forced into it, they're worse.

Don't know how to kill them.

Don't know how to slow them down.

They're on Earth.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journals of Bobby Winchester**

After I read that I didn't leave the bunker. If they had killed my Dad then they could kill anyone and I was far to frightened to leave. So I stayed in the bunker alone, with no hope of reprieve. But at least now I had a project and with the fire of my father's death burning me into action, I trained. I promised myself I would kill those things. Learn how to rip them up and burn them. Luckily, homebound as I was, I was homebound in the greatest arsenal the world had ever seen, home to the most thorough library on monsters the world had ever seen.

It was there, alone, shut it and talking to ghosts, I grew up. Dad had done well packing the rations, I could live here for years. And I did. Seven, in fact. Seven years of physical training, regimented gun practice and reading every book on angels and demons I had supplied to me. I had a knack for languages, as it turned out, a trait that would serve me well in every step of my journey.

It was a brutal coming of age, locked alone embittered with self inflicted training. Survival skills also, I memorized plants I could eat, ways to hunt animals, knowing well that my stores were not endless. I spoke to my ghosts constantly Mary mostly. They were my only companions.

There isn't much to tell about this chapter in my histories, I was an odd unsure girl in clothing repaired from the men's clothing I found in the bunker store rooms. Training for a battle I wasn't sure I would ever see, and, during some nights, learning to fix a car I was sure I would never drive.

I was sixteen when my stores were depleted and I had to set foot in the world. I'm sure I was mad. Apparently not irreparably so, maybe irreparably so. But to say I survived seven years of isolation undamaged would be a lie. I recognize that my ghosts were more real to me than they should have been. I had almost forgotten that they weren't really with me. Although still sane enough that I probably would have denied it, if asked, I lived as if I was in the constant audience of the talkative and friendly Mary and Bobby, the harsh and unforgiving John, the clever and unruly Charlie, chilly and distant Sammy. My father did not join my ghosts, perhaps it was my last attempt to rage against his death. Nor did Cas, whom it took me many years to forgive.

Leaving the bunker was not the tumult I had suspected it would be. I wasn't tied to the bunker, I could take my ghosts with me anywhere. It would be harder later, when I was farther away, but at sixteen, I itched to see a bit beyond my tiny world. I packed a careful backpack, chose my weapons and cuttings from books with absolute care. Then I walked out of the only world I had ever known.

I had expected the hardest part would be learning how to talk to the people. I was aware, books I had read had told me, how crooked I would be from being so much alone. But the chance to discover if that were true would be a long time in coming. The world I walked out into was empty.

**AN: I hope you guys all liked the first installment of Bobby's side! Please give me your feedback and thoughts, I have a few different ideas of where to take this story and it would be lovely to hear the parts you guys liked or didn't.**

**Thank you reading and thank you to my absolutely delightful reviewers that light up my inbox!**

**Sorry for those I promised that this would be up last night, I was taken away from my computer by silly SOCIAL EVENTS. So I couldn't update. But here it is, and to make up for the lateness, ITS LONGISH! **


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: Being Alone**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

I had carefully prepared for being outside before I had gone. I had numbered my priorities carefully. Although from my observation of my dad, which it was my instinct to follow as exactly as possible, I had spent the majority of my youth being informed in solitude from the records and books of the Men of Letters. Their predisposition for organization had imprinted on me.

My priorities, in descending order of importance were: 1. Avoid the Hellions 2. Clean water 3. Sustaining food 4. Discover how to kill the Hellions.

The first priority was the most difficult and had taken some guess work. I knew that they were an angel demon bastard monster. So I had thought that guarding myself against both angels and demons would protect me from them. I hadn't been able to make the hex bags that I needed, my father had used up our stores of magical ingredients before his death. So I had settled for sigils. Ideally I would have tattooed them on myself, but I didn't have the equipment. Or any idea how to make tattoos. I painted them on my skin with permanent dye. I must have looked like a madwoman. Madgirl? I wasn't sure where I fell anymore in the spectrum of woman or girl. The last time I had talked to someone I had been a girl. But I was seventeen and on a mission to save the world I didn't know if that made me an adult.

Regardless, I looked like a mad_person_. My clothes had originally been three times too big for me, and cut for a man. I had managed to make them not get in my way, but I wasn't a seamstress. The pants I had ripped off at the right length and belted tightly at my waist. The knees had been really flappy and I had no idea how to fix that, so I just ripped up some other fabric and tied the flaps down. I had a few layers of shirts on, I thought the nights might get cold, even if it was summer. All the arms were too long so I tore those off at the wrist too. I had tried rolling them up but I didn't want them to unroll and get in the way. The ones that fit my arms right didn't button up over my chest. Which had been another problem. The Men of Letters had been...men... and didn't have lady's undergarments I could pilfer. And the last time I had been shopping I had been seven. Right now my chest was wrapped in bands of torn up sheet. They made it more comfortable to run around but were irritating to put on. All these I had worn for a long time, but was just now becoming self conscious about.

The real issue was my shoes. In the bunker I just hadn't worn any, but the real world was quite a bit sharper. I had made something that worked. A band of thick leather on the bottom tied around my feet, big socks making it at least sort of comfortable.

So that is how I emerged into the world. Hair roughly shorn off, clothes a gangling ripped mess, leather tied around my feet and blue sigils painted on nearly every inch of flesh.

I really thought I had planned for everything. I had weapons for every conceivable outcome, maps of every place I could think of having to go. But I hadn't considered one basic issue.

The sun was really bright.

I had always thought of the sun as something that was just there, but then, I had spent nearly all my life underground. I burnt immediately which was painful. But that was the most excitement I had. I followed the highway. I had really wanted to take Dad's car, but it was noisy and I wasn't sure I'd be able to find gas. I didn't have it in me to abandon her on the highway if I ran out of fuel. So I was walking along the highway, talking to my ghosts. In whispers mostly, I didn't want to draw any attention to myself. The loneliness was more oppressive here. In my bunker I had known my aloneness was absolute. I knew there would be no visitors, no surprises. Out here, I expected other people at every second and was, at every second, disappointed. My old desire for a puppy had returned. It would have been nice to have something else alive next to me. It was so quiet. Silent. I could hear the wind, but I knew there were supposed to be birds and animals. But there weren't.

I had decided to head south, the northern winter sounded too deadly for my liking. The journey was, slow. I only traveled at night, I didn't know if that was actually helpful, but it was easier to remain unseen, at least to other humans who might be a threat. I didn't know how well the Hellions could see at night. I followed the road but I didn't walk on it, there wasn't enough cover. The Hellions could fly, I knew that, so I went through the ditches or beyond the treeline if there was one. I spent the days tucked into the nearest culverts or rigged into trees.

Food wasn't the problem I thought it would be, I went through a town every few days, all of them abandoned and silent. But filled with non perishable food. That was lucky, since there was nothing for me to hunt like I had thought there would be. I didn't stay in the towns. I couldn't. I couldn't stomach it. The country between the towns was empty. The towns were just lifeless. There were plenty of people there. People torn up, their chests ripped open like Dad's had been. I went into houses and the walls were painted with old blood. Whole families pulled to bits. I thought that I knew what to expect. I thought that I would find people scared and lost and I could help them because I had read so much about what I thought was happening. But there was no one to help, just me, suffocating in loneliness and desperately afraid.

My first city was sort of a treat. There too, the bodies were terrible. But by the time I got there I was almost deadened to it. I had seen so much. It was ridiculous, but I found a mall, I thought it was the mall I had gone to with my father as a child. There was no reason for me to think this, except that it was nice to think. I had a growing fear that I would be found by someone and dismissed as crazy or dangerous because of the way I looked. I rationalized, saying I would be more effective with proper clothing. But I also wanted to look the way people looked.

The mall was mostly deserted. Which was a welcome reprieve. I stripped myself out of my by now very dirty and torn men's clothing and found things that really fit me. And, best of all, I found underwear. The change in comfort was incredible. And really the most helpful, I found tough leather boots that actually fit my feet. I fixed my hair in a mirror, using a scissors and cutting it evenly. I inspected myself in the mirror. I liked the way I looked, which was a heady feeling. I couldn't remember liking the way I had looked since I had admired myself in my unicorn pajamas.

I was standing in a mall salon, looking at my reflection in the mirror. Tight fitting dark pants in a thick material, a thin and mobile shirt and a heavy leather jacket with pockets. Hair short and clean. And, my favorite find, a new backpack, less tattered than the one I had been using. It was made of leather, durable, lots of little pockets. I had cut up one of the cheaper plastic bags and wrapped my bookcuttings in it, as well as the journal. Then packed them all carefully in the backpack. I thought I cut quite a figure. I wasn't paying any attention to the world around me. I had sheered my hair very short, no use having a handle attached to my head.

I heard clicking coming up the hallway. I froze. I hadn't heard a noise not made by me in years. It was approaching. I seized a hand mirror and dropped to the floor. I crawled on my belly to the door, hidden behind the wall next to the door. I held up the mirror in front of my face and with extreme care not to reflect light, I looked at what was coming. The clicking was coming from claws, attached to the feet of a tall pale Hellion. My heart seized up. My body cramped. I couldn't move, I could barely breath. I had thought I was prepared for this. Thought even that this was what I wanted. But I didn't know what to do. Didn't know how to attack it. Or how to avoid it.

I looked again. It didn't really look like Cas had looked. Its hands didn't look like hands anymore, they were long and bony, the claws six inches long at least. Knees sharply bent and ending in long clawed feet. The wings were bigger too. Its mouth was different from Cas. Not big teeth forced into a human mouth, its mouth stretched long across its face, and the slender sharp teeth fit more nicely. The wings were the same. Mottled fleshy wings sparsely feathered. I shook where I lay.

It opened its mouth and called in a harsh and scratching voice. It made no words. It sniffed the air and wriggled. He turned toward me and began to stalk toward my hiding spot. I slowly moved my hand down my leg and pulled my knife from my boot. But I had seen what a knife did to a Hellion. I had also seen a lot of what a Hellion did to a person. I watched the Hellion approach, it was heading straight toward me. It was obvious that it had seen me or smelled me. I looked around the salon. There was no way out through the back, if it got to the doorway I was going to be stuck. It was time to be brave. Gently, I pulled my backpack on and tightened the straps. I thought of my father. I was brave. I was a hunter. I was a Winchester.

I curled my feet beneath me and waited. I watched the Hellion approach. I stopped breathing. I waited until it was a few feet away and rushed passed, making a turn close to it. Then I was running, flat away from it. He snarled, released a high ragged shriek. I needed to find a small area, where it couldn't use its wings. Where the two feet it had on me and much longer reach wouldn't be so much of a factor. Or just get away. That was preferable.

It was slow. Slower than I ever would have expected. I had run not long when the clicking was very far behind me. I turned. Looking straight on toward the Hellion, dragging itself toward me, had ribs jutting out of it. It was so bony. It moved sluggishly. Was it..._starving?_ Unwilling to stay and find out I fled, running from the starving creature.

I got out of the city as fast as I could. Avoiding main roads and staying under cover. The encounter had frightened me in more than one way. I was shaken that I had really seen a Hellion. But I was maybe more frightened that it was starving. It ate souls. If it were starving that meant that there weren't souls for it to eat. Was I the last one left? Was I truly alone. The world in that moment spread out around me, stretched away from me in every direction and pushed me down into the dust. It was hard to breath.

Would I be alone forever?

That was not the only Hellion I saw. In the end I saw many. Like the first mostly. Then I began to find their corpses. Starved and dead. I logged them all in the journal, if you're really interested in the details, they're inserted in Dad's section, behind the Hellion entry.

I got braver. It had been a year, I was eighteen. I had a minor celebration on my birthday. I was an eighteen year old, a real, fully fledged adult. I found a convenience store and took cigarettes and a covered magazine. I wasn't interested in them so much as I knew that it was a culturally important thing to do. I thought my ghosts would get easier to conjure up but it was getting harder. Being alone was getting deep into my bones. I smoked one of the cigarettes. It made me cough and I threw the rest of the pack away. The magazine just made me sad. The women were all dead. I wondered if buying that sort of thing was just a thing boy's were supposed to do. I wondered if they made them for girls, but it wasn't exactly a priority.

That convenience store did, however, have a gift for me. The back room was unlocked and inside was a very dusty gasoline hand pump. I felt a thrill of excitement. I was no longer afraid of the Hellions. I hadn't found any that weren't starving, I was sure that a little noise wouldn't harm anyone. And I wanted to learn how to drive.

I stole, I say stole, but is it stealing if you take it from a dead man? I wanted to go home and get the Impala but there was too much debris on the roads for that to be worthwhile. I needed something small and maneuverable. It took me three days of careful searching for me to find what I wanted. A small, low, black motorcycle. It took me even longer to figure out how to fix it. Sitting for however many years, five? had done a number on it. But I did, those nights with the Impala finally contributing. And parts stolen from auto shops.

I stayed in town another month learning how to properly drive it. Gas was easy to come by now and the world was at my finger tips. Well, the continental North America was at my fingertips. I felt aimless. The Hellions were killing themselves, there was nothing for me to do. Just survive. Alone and lost. So I would see everything I could see. The ocean first. Then the other ocean.

So I did. I had nothing holding me back. My fears were growing stale and losing their bite. I was just lonely and bored. So I rode. I stole a little machine that plugged into my cigarette lighter and played music. Partly I was no longer afraid there were any Hellions. Partly I wanted them to find me. Wanted to feel a thrill, or see some creature. Even a Hellion was beginning to feel like real company. I wrote my name in the journal and looked at it every night. I didn't want to forget. I had read that that could happen.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

I was twenty four before my life made any sort of change. I tried very hard to record every day and determine the months and days and years, but I was sure that I had lost some, or added them, or gotten confused. What was the rhyme to remember which months had thirty days and which had thirty one? But it had been a long time. Endless time. I could no longer remember the point. In the morning it was hard to convince myself to stand up, put on my pants. Do something. Hard to bring myself to eat. I did things out of a method and routine. I went through fluxes of different obsessions. There was no reason to look put together. But there was no reason not to either. For weeks I would steal incredible clothing from high end stores, fix my hair and paint my nails. Then for weeks after that I would wear the same unwashed clothing taken from gas stations. It didn't matter. For a few months I had taken diamonds whenever I found them. I filled a backpack with them, filled it. Not with jewelery, just diamonds. A big backpack crammed full, bursting with diamonds. Then I dumped them out and took Hostess cakes instead.

I'll skip ahead, New York City was the next place with any sort of story. A break in my tedium. I had gone because I wanted to see it, I no longer flinched at the death in cities and I was interested in the mythical giant metropolis I had never seen. I roared in, I had upgraded my motorcycle to something bigger and louder. I liked the noise. I had bonded with this one. I thought of my father and carved '_Baby'_ in the side.

I roared through the streets of the city looking up at the high buildings. They were starting to collapse. Windows falling out, bricks smashing to the ground. It was all very dangerous. The roads were eroding and it was getting harder and harder to get around on my bike.

I wanted first to look like a New Yorker. I thought that meant chic and black. I picked up a map first then made my way to the most expensive stores. I found tall black boots and form fitting black pants. I was, for the first time in months, having fun. I draped myself in a flowing black shirt made of silk and belted at the waist. I went shopping for jewelery and glittered myself with gold. I thought I looked quite elegant. I even found a make up store and made myself look what I thought was femme fatale, not that I was entirely sure what that was supposed to look like. I looked like the posters anyway.

Then I got back on my bike and roared on out. I was on my way to the Statue of Liberty when I came to a stop. In front of me were Hellions. Three of them. I hadn't seen so many in years. I shut off my bike and dismounted. Slipping behind a corner. They weren't paying me any attention. They were bickering. I hadn't known they bickered. I watched as one of them lifted his claws and struck out at another. The third joined in and they made swift work of the other. They bled black smoke that glittered blue. My heart was racing and I smiled. The two others turned and started stalking toward a building. As soon as its back was turned the Hellion in the back snarled and attacked the back of its companion, tearing the wing and taking him down. Leaving only the one.

The remaining Hellion was stalking away from me and I thought of something. The only reason for such a sudden betrayal was food. These starving Hellions must have found something to eat. That meant a person. A person that needed saving. And I had just seen something that hurt them. I slipped out toward it. I wasn't even afraid. The worst it would do was eat my soul. That was no longer so scary.

I stopped before I reached it, it was prying a door off a building. I crouched by one of the bodies, drawing my biggest knife. This was the first time I had been this close to one. It smelled like sulfur and frankincense. I didn't hesitate, I had a person to save. I lifted the hand of the Hellion and sliced off a long claw. I had a little time. The Hellion seemed to be having trouble getting through the door. The claw has sharp barbs all the way down, I pulled some fabric off of the body of the Hellion and wrapped myself a handle.

I smiled, giddy, and stalked toward the Hellion. As I approached it finally pried the door from its frame. It charged in with a gleeful snarl. I raced after it. I wasn't going to greet my first other human by letting it die. A gravely masculine shout echoed from the dark building. I let out a giggling shout and charged into the building. It was not as dark as I had presumed. Light was coming through the door frame, the Hellion was stalking toward a man who was sneering at it from the corner.

The Hellion was so focused on him it didn't even look at me. I leapt at it, feeling happiness I had never felt. I had a person. I was saving people. I was hunting things. I was a Winchester again. I landed on the back of the Hellion, ripping at its wings. I was laughing. The Hellion reached back at me and I stabbed at it with the claw. Blood poured out of it and it screamed. Laughter shrieked out of my mouth. I grabbed at the Hellion's hair and yanked its head back, opening its throat with the claw. It hadn't had much strength to fight back, as underfed as it was. But I had killed one. I had done what my father could not. I had saved a life. There was person standing right before me. A person. A real person.

I got up from the Hellion corpse. Sliding the claw knife into my bag. I grinned at the person. I needed to be friendly.

He, it was a he, was gaping at me, he had a confused, off put grimace on his face. He looked me up and down. He was a smallish man, short dark hair, gruff dark beard. He was well dressed and suddenly I was happy I had lifted my new clothes. His eyes were wild. Haunted. He looked like he could not believe I was standing in front of him.

I was filled with a buzzing energy, I was shaking. For the first time in years I was nervous and excited. I didn't know what to say. I had never met a new person. I just stood there, manic grin on my face. It began to falter.

He started, "You...you can kill them."

"Hellions."

"What?"

"Hellions, they're called Hellions."

He narrowed his eyes at me. There was something about him, about the way he spoke that was setting of alarm bells in my brain, but I couldn't quite place it.

"What do you mean they're called Hellions? Who calls them Hellions?"

"The angels."

I was having a hard time with this conversation. I had practiced conversations but that was with my ghosts, whose dialogue I added. It was taking me a while longer than I thought was alright to come up with things to say. How far away was I supposed to stand, I thought I was too far away. I stepped closer. He looked uncomfortable. I took a step back. Then another. Then I was sure I was too far and stepped forward again.

He looked very uncomfortable now. "Stop. Stop moving. What are you doing."

"Oh. I wasn't- I. uh. The angels. They call them Hellions."

"You know about the angels? What do the angels have to do with them?"

I had forgotten that other people didn't know all of the things I did. "Well...they made them. They made them to clean out hell."

His face curled into a snarl of unbelievable rage. "They. Made. Them? TO CLEAN OUT HELL?" His voice was a horrific rage.

I stepped back and drew a knife. I wasn't sure when people attacked out of anger. But I wasn't taking chances.

He seemed to realize his error. He stopped shouting and lifted his hands. "So you know all about these things." he said in a soft, soothing tone, "You can kill them. Are you a hunter?"

I nodded, pleased, "Yes. Yes, I'm a hunter. That's why I saved you. Because I'm a hunter. Hunters save people." I was getting flustered. I was breathing very hard. I stopped talking. I was making him uncomfortable. I remembered I was supposed to introduce myself. I put out my hand.

"I'm Bobby. Bobby Winchester."

He stared at my hand and then, and I knew he was supposed to shake it, he laughed. "Bobby Winchester? Winchester? You're the Squirrel's Kitten?"

Then I knew. I knew where I had heard the voice and that funny way of talking. I had been a child, laying in an air duct eavesdropping. I put my knife back up. This wasn't fair. I saved him. I couldn't let him go. I couldn't be alone again. But I had been warned. Warned about him specifically. My father had _hated _him.

He disregarded the knife and took my hand regardless. "Crowley." he said soothingly. He didn't shake my hand however, he bent and kissed my fingers. Warmth spread like a fire up my hand. It was tingling. I hadn't been touched in over a decade.

I was standing very still, unsure about how to proceed. Then I sheathed my dagger. Company, by now, was far more important that anything else. And, the odds were, he thought the same.

He gave me a charming smile, "Pleasure to finally meet you, Bobby Winchester. Its been awhile since I've had any company. Tell me, is your father with you?"

I shook my head, "He's dead. He's been dead for years."

He looked at me oddly, like he wasn't quite sure how to feel about that. I thought he would be glad, if he disliked my dad as much as Dad had disliked him. But he didn't.

"Are you alone?" he asked.

I nodded.

He raised an eyebrow and wiggled it, "Companions for the road?"

"You're the King of Hell."

He laughed a dark and broken laugh, "Darling, there's no Hell to be King of. I'm the last." He sounded sad, defeated.

"If it makes you feel better, I think I'm the last human."

"It doesn't."

I grinned at him, "Companions for the road."

**AN: I hope you all enjoyed this latest installment! This was a bit less exciting than some of the other chapters, but I hope it gave you some good groundwork! **

**Thank you to my lovely and faithful reviewers who make writing this story so much damn fun. **


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11:**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

I enjoyed traveling with Crowley immediately. I had thought there would be a time where we were adjusting to each other or missing parts of traveling alone. But I warmed to him right off. I had the tendency to fall into long tracts of silence. He had reacted to solitude differently and tended to talk without stopping in long segments. I thought maybe he liked hearing his own voice, but perhaps he liked someone else hearing his voice. I understood that. Having another person react and respond to things I said and did was an experience I would never tire of. Sometimes I would say something and he would laugh, the first time, that gave me a bigger rush than attacking the Hellion.

We didn't take the bike. He told me I had been a fool to make that much noise, I had laughed, and told him that if I hadn't I wouldn't have been around to save him. Then he laughed too. But we left the bike.

I now adored going through cities. We walked through the once main thoroughfares and he told stories, explained what everything used to be. I thought he must have been everywhere. Once, we were in one of these cities, Chicago, I think. We were in front of an immense domed structure with big tracts of parking around it. I pointed up to it.

"What is that? What did they do in there?"

He furrowed his brow and gave me a confused sort of sneer. I didn't often ask questions, usually I didn't know enough beyond his descriptions to ask anything about.

"That's an arena."

"Ok, but what did they _do _in there, what do you need all that space for? I sort of had an inkling what arenas were, or really I suppose I had known that they existed, but I couldn't remember their purpose.

Instead of answering he said, "How did you survive the Hellions, Bobby?"

He would do this sometimes. He would ask a question or make a comment and it would seem entirely unrelated to whatever we were talking about, but it always circled itself back. I thought that this is what my father might have been warning me about. Not to trust where I thought he was going with things. But I didn't think he was a threat. I think he disliked being alone more than I had. So I answered him.

"I was in the bunker."

"With your father?"

"No, Cas killed him. I said that." I didn't want to have to say it again, it made me burn.

In a gentle voice, not accustomed to him he asked, "How old were you when your father was – died?"

I shrugged, "Nine, I think."

There was a stretch of silence and his eyebrows rose sharply, "How old are you now?"

I thought for a moment, years were slipping away from me. "Twenty three or twenty four, it was hard to keep track."

He seemed to be recovering from some sort of blow, "You've...been alone for longer than you've..."

I was looking at him. He looked thrown off kilter, which he didn't often look. Then he righted himself, regaining his normal ease, "Had I known I would have explained everything much better."

There was more silence. He was looking at me expectantly and I thought that there might have been something I was supposed to do or say that I didn't remember. He waited a long while then said, "If you would like to know, you could ask how I survived the Hellions, it would be a bonding moment, Kitten."

"I know how you survived the Hellions."

He raised and eyebrow challengingly, I thought maybe he just wanted to tell me his story and I felt bad about saying it.

"How, then, tell me, how did I survive the Hellions."

I shrugged, "By being the most conniving, self reliant son of a bitch Hell has ever had." It was a direct quote from my father. He had said it by way of warning.

He preened and grinned, "Who gave me that description, darling?"

"Dad."

Then he laughed in a self indulgent sort of way. "Well, yes, that _is_ how I survived, but I'll tell you the whole story sometime."

He didn't hold on to the story for long. On my insistence we spent the night on top of the highest tower still looking solid. On his insistence we brought scotch. It wasn't particularly easy to get up to the tower. There used to be elevators, but they were obviously in disrepair and without power. So we took the stairs. Him irritatedly, me gleefully. The door was locked to the roof, but he winked at me, clicked his fingers, and it opened. I was duly impressed.

We dragged chairs out of the upper office suites, and I pulled out blankets from my tightly packed stores. We wrapped ourselves up and bunkered down. He had positioned us excellently, so we could watch the sun sink over the city. I was certain I had never seen something quite as beautiful. Then, in the dark, he told me how he had escaped.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

** An Annotated Retelling of Crowley's Rooftop Survival Story (As extant as possible, he told me a long time ago) My additions will be parenthetical.**

It was fifteen years ago (_I would have been eight, I think) _I had known that there was an attack coming. Your papa's angel boyfriend (_I asked for clarification, he said it was mostly a joke, but he had his suspicions. I hoped it was true, it would have been nice for Dad to have somebody. Not to be so alone.) _was up to another of his moronic schemes to save his angel pals. I was worried that dear Cas was so involved, his plans tended to have a body count. I had gone to your father to convince him to see reason and help in the fight against Cas. (_I told him I had heard all that, that I was eavesdropping in the escape hatches above the bunker. He seemed entertained and impressed, he called me a delightful surprise.)_ Your dear dad, of course, would hear none of it. He was too enamored of Castiel to work against him. And I am not sure he really saw the harm in what Cas was doing. Although when I told him Cas would be killed he seemed interested he never consented to working with me.

So I was in Hell, trying to build defenses before the attack. Military engagements had never been my primary forte, not that I was a bad military leader (_as I found out later, he is a pretty bad military leader, combat isn't really his cup of tea) _but this had moved beyond the realm of schemes and tricks. The attack was upon us. Hell fell to them in days (_had I been there Hell would have stood for a thousand years.) _The Hellions, as you call them, were demons themselves, so keeping them out was tricky. There were six of them when they made their first assault. But as they ate the bred. Each generation becoming more and more like beasts. We could not resist them. Nothing killed them. They were always hungry. I had gathered in the old palace, I had a contingent of demons with me, no more than thirty. We could watch them from the turrets as they ate their way across my kingdom.

I was sitting on the war room, looking over maps and histories. We needed a back way out of Hell and there were secrets that had been lost long ago. The door slammed open and one of my demons, the lookout scurried in, eyes wild, "Sir! They've breached the walls!" Hastily, I snatched a map from the table and ran with lookout toward the back doors of the Palace, a number of others joining us, though the screams of the dying echoed from the main doors behind us. Only four of us, myself included made it out. There were six Hellions in the palace and it took them long enough to make it through the demons I had locked in that we had a chance to escape. We went to the wilds of Hell, the deepest pits. A place even demons avoided. Wild Hellhounds once roamed there, although we didn't see any. I think that is what saved us. That the Hellions had already been through the wilds and found them wanting. The histories had allowed me one option. A terrible option.

There was a way out. But the way had been sealed many eons ago. Sealed with a prison. That prison was occupied at the moment by brother Lucifer and Michael. Two creatures I was less than interested in freeing. Oh, and the human Adam Milligan, I almost forgot about him, your father's half brother. (_I had made him stop here and questioned him, how could I not have known about another brother of my father? My uncle. Crowley told me that my father liked to pretend to have forgotten about Adam.) _But I was willing to free them if it meant my only chance at life. As we neared the Cage, that was it's name, the Cage, we demons are not terribly original. We saw that the door was hanging off it's hinges.

We stopped, filled with dread. Were Lucifer and Michael free or dead? Either option was not appealing. This was the first time I saw what Castiel had become. As we drew nearer we could see that Hellions were inside the Cage, that Michael and Lucifer were backed into a corner. There were three Hellions. One was distracted, devouring what I suppose was Adam. The other two were facing the strongest angels in existence. The most humanoid of the three was grinning, this was Cas. I shuddered. I had seen how deadly Cas could be as just an angel, also how deadly he could be filled with Leviathans (_I asked him about this too, he said he would tell me that story later but suffice it to say that Cas' ideas were nearly always self destructive and idiotic.) _I had gone cold at the thought of how much death Cas could cause with that many teeth.

Cas snickered at Lucifer and snapped his teeth playfully, "It's been so long, Lucy! And Michael! Do you remember when you killed me? I think I'll just return the favor! I've been so CURIOUS as what your grace will taste like." And then he attacked. They fought well, beautifully really, considering they could do no damage to the Hellions. It brought a great deal of finality to our situation to watch Lucifer be torn apart, his grace devoured by a beast, although I had never liked the fallen angel brat, he was admittedly potent.

I didn't see the end of the fight. I was too busy finding someplace to hide. Hiding didn't, however, work. But, as a I said, there were four of us and three Hellions. Not that we stood a chance in a fight, but the Hellions could only eat one person at a time. So a sacrifice of all my remaining companions gave me about fifteen seconds to sprint into the Cage myself. I had the incantation memorized, I was good at incantation, my mother was a witch, you know. And then I was on Earth. I had thought I would be safe there, at least for awhile. But I had escaped one Hell and found myself in another. The Hellions were there too, eating and eating and eating. There was one notable improvement for me on Earth. I could move with the snap of my fingers. Which greatly improved my chance at survival. At least I could for awhile and it helped me survive the worst of it.

I could no longer move as far as I once could and after a few months I could only make in a few feet, which still helped me keep myself alive. Then I couldn't move at all, and all I could manage were little tricks, like opening that door. Hell is dead, its power is gone.

I spent the rest of my time in solitude, keeping as far from the Hellions as possible. Finally they ate themselves to death. The human and demons were gone. The angels too, I think, and they began to starve. The youngest generations first, they were the most ravenous. Until only the older and stronger ones remained. Don't fool yourself, girl, there are still Hellions, strong and well and hungry. But if we can avoid them, they too will die.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

So that is the story he told me, while we were curled up beneath blankets, looking up at the stars. "So there aren't any more people?" I asked, softly.

"No, darling, I don't think there are."

Despair pulsed within me, but I pushed it away. I was beginning to discover, with Crowley as my teacher, that despair could most easily be diminished by witty or arrogant remarks, it dispelled the seriousness of the situation. So I grinned at him.

"Does that make me the Queen of the Earth?"

He stared at me then let out a cackling laugh. "The King of Hell and the Queen of the Earth drinking scotch under the stars." he chuckled. Then he looked at me oddly for a long while.

"Are you...cold?" He said this a little slyly. I wasn't sure his ploy, for surely with that tone he had a ploy, this would be one of those times where what he said wasn't what he wanted to talk about. But I was cold. Chicago is very far north and it was late in the year, this high in the air the wind was biting.

"Yeah, I suppose."

He tilted an eyebrow, "Come here."

I shrugged and walked over to him. I wasn't sure what he wanted. He uncurled his blanket and opened it for me. I wasn't certain, I had never been so close to another person since I was a child and my father was alive. But the thought warmed me. I sat next to him. He wrapped the blanket around us and set his arm around my shoulder, so I leaned against him. It was warm, his body radiated heat. The proximity sent goosebumps down my arms. I could feel his heart beating. It was a beautiful sound, another person alive. He offered me some scotch. I sipped it, it too, warmed me to my bones.

On the highest roof in Chicago, the last two creatures between Heaven and Hell curled up in each others' warmth, sipped scotch, and looked at the stars.

**AN: Thank you all for reading! I hope you are all having as much fun as I am! SO MANY big cozy thanks to all my reviewers! **

**Thanks for reading!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: On the Nature of Companions **

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

I hadn't planned on falling asleep curled up with Crowley. I knew he didn't sleep so I expected that even if I did he would get up and do whatever he did while I slept. Sleeping is something that had greatly improved since I had begun traveling with Crowley. I had mostly disregarded my danger while I had been alone, but I had been unable to allow myself to risk dying while I was asleep. I had slept for snatches of hours at a time, it wasn't comfortable, but I had survived. But Crowley didn't sleep, he would wake me up if something happened, I could sleep through the night.

I woke up the morning after our night on the roof, I was still curled up in the blanket on the relocated office waiting room couch. I was still underneath Crowley's arm. I had shifted down while I was sleeping, so that my head was resting on his lap. He had his hand on my elbow. The sun was just coming up at our backs, I could feel it on my cheek. Crowley's warmth bled into my skin.

He looked down at me, "Good morning, darling, did you sleep soundly?"

He lifted his hand from my elbow and let it brush passed my hair, barely grazing it. His voice was always low and gravely, but his soft and gentle tone whispered in the morning air sunk through my whole body. I shivered in a way I was unfamiliar with.

I sat up. I could feel my hair sticking up at odd angles, I had grown out a bit since the last time I had cut it, it was getting floppy.

Crowley laughed, I tried to flatten it. He reached out and pushed a piece of it down and tucked it behind my ear. Goosebumps fled down from my ear to my fingertips.

I stifled a yawn behind my hand. "Lets get out of Chicago, it's getting cold, we should head south."

He smiled, "We should head for New Orleans, I loved New Orleans."

"My dad had a friend from around there he fought with in Purgatory, Benny the Vampirate."

Crowley made an odd face at me, "Benny the what?"

"Vampirate. He was a vampire pirate...vampirate...get it?"

He scoffed, "Yes, darling, the question wasn't whether I got it, I just thought it was idiotic."

I bared my teeth, "Hey, he told me about him when I was about five, it wasn't idiotic."

He held up his hands, "Alright, alright, kitten, but regardless, I hadn't known your father was friends with a vampire."

"It's not like you guys were friends."

"You're wrong , love, we were besties."

I shoved him playfully in the shoulder, "Lets go."

We left Chicago, and we went south. It was immeasurably more fun to travel with Crowley. We stopped in every city now and raided expensive stores. He loved nice clothes, he would scoff and sneer his way through store after store until he could find a single thing he would put on. Even then he was irritated that there were no tailors to make his suits fit right. Then he would roll his eyes at whatever I was holding and choose something for me. Once I had it on his cruelty would give way to compliments which were usually much closer to compliments on his ability to choose clothing. When he got irritating enough I would dirty his sparkling new clothes, or once when he got truly terrible I cut off his tie and threw it at him.

When his clothes survived his attitude we looted wealthy wine cellars and drank them, cloaked in riches, overlooking what must have, at one point, been majestic vistas. He would give me long and detailed monologues about the finest wines. I had a hard time telling the difference but the expressions he would give me if I said that made me loathe to admit it.

I wasn't entirely submissive in this, sometimes, when I tired of elegant clothing, I made him find leather jackets with me, sturdy boots, and dark jeans. He looked good in them, he said that I did too. Which made me go warm.

We did these things to distract us. Because it was closing in. Especially for Crowley, I think. If I lived, I would have to survive for sixty more years, at the very most. He would go on forever, alone after me. Alone forever. It weighed on us. Watching the world get dustier and dustier.

So I cajoled and teased Crowley into leather jackets and he charmed me into silk. And we made our way south.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

We were in the middle of Missouri. I was just waking up, the sun was bright already. Crowley was on the ground, leaning against a tree, I was laying down with my head in his lap. It's how we spent most of our nights. We liked the proximity He had been sitting there all night. He was combing is fingers through my hair softly. I was letting myself wake up slowly. Crowley was talking in a low voice. I think he talked through the night, while I slept. I was listening to what he was saying. They were disjointed stories. Sometimes they were nothing, just words that disappeared on the wind. Sometimes I thought that they were just sounds. He had not remained untouched by the madness of solitude. When I was asleep, not there to keep it in check, he drifted back.

I heard a crackling of leaves. I can't imagine a normal person with a history filled with life and creatures wouldn't even have noticed. But my life was silence. And I had heard a crackle.

I wrenched Crowley forward and rolled to my feet. I stood in a crouch. Crowley had sworn loudly and was scrambling away. I hadn't put him in an excellent position for getting to his feet, but he had avoided the slashing Hellion claw that had been aimed at the back of his head. I charged at the Hellion and rolled to the side as it swiped. It was between me and my backpack. I needed my claw dagger or we were dead. Worse than dead. I glanced at Crowley then looked back and forth between the bag and him. I continued to feign lunges at the Hellion while he crawled toward my bag.

He was going to have to get pretty close to the Hellion, I was trying to draw the Hellion away but it wasn't taking the bait as well as I had hoped it would. I wasn't sure how much danger he was willing to put himself in. If he ran the Hellion would go after me first, he would probably get away. I remembered that he had once abandoned his companions. I knew he preferred to keep me around, but I didn't know if he would choose to risk his life for mine. I preferred to avoid learning.

He had made it to the bag and dug out the knife. I raised my hand so he could throw it to me. I didn't know how well he could throw, I hoped he was at least ok. His eyes slid behind me and he shouted, "BOBBY, NO!" His voice was high and scratched with terror.

I felt a claw wrap around my wrist from behind. I flinched and another curled around my throat. I froze, not daring to breath lest the claw dig into my neck. I felt hot breath tickling my ear.

"You managed for so long, Bouncing. Baby. Bobby." It was Cas' voice. His snarling and animalistic voice. I looked up to Crowley. He was standing there, gripping the claw, looking at me with devastation. Then he was gone.

Time did a funny thing then. It stretched out before me, the sound of my breath echoed around me and filled my ears with noise. He had abandoned me. The cold aloneness pummeled my skin. Cas was still in my ear.

"I'm going to devour you. I'll eat you slowly, savor every morsel. I wonder if you'll taste like your Dear. Dead. Daddy." I wriggled. There were tears welling in my eyes. They weren't from fear. I was going to die alone. Cas uncurled his claw from my throat and dragged it slowly down my clavicle. I felt my skin part underneath it, it hurt. Hell below it hurt. The flesh wound wasn't deep but the pain underneath it was such that I couldn't even feel the damage in my skin. I was coming apart. Blue light slipped like smoke from my skin, wrapped around his claw. He laughed in my ear. I screamed. I could feel my memories slide. They were water in a bag with a cut on one end, sliding away. He placed his hand over my heart and curled his fingers. His claws torn into me. He pressed them in, they sunk deep into me. Blue light spurted. My scream ratcheted from my lips. I was going to be devoured. I had survived for so long. I had been so alone. And then I wasn't. But I still had to die alone. _It wasn't fair._

Cas yelled and stumbled back away from me. I fell. My legs didn't work. They wouldn't hold me. The pain was intolerable. Immense. Consuming. Something picked me up. We were flying maybe or moving very fast. It must have been Cas. He was going to devour me someplace else. The other Hellion had attacked him, hungry. But I couldn't handle the pain. Black stars were sprinkled in my eyes. I fought, but I wasn't sure my body moved. I was having a hard time feeling anything but how much it hurt.

These were the things I thought were happening while I was ferried away. But I didn't know. I couldn't comprehend the world that surrounded me on all sides. My entire consciousness was the pain in my chest and the slipping away.

I couldn't rightly say if I was still moving. I didn't know how to separate what was happening from what had happened before. Time cycled. My father tucked his arms around my little ribcage and told me about Uncle Sammy and I tried to reconcile the hero hunter and this sad and aching voice. I thought that perhaps, being a hunter meant becoming a sad and aching voice. And my father was being ripped apart while I stood by. _Covered in blood until you're covered in your own blood. _He told that to me once. I never really listened. How could someone invincible ever be covered in his own blood? Then he was.

I was waking up under Crowley's arm feeling warmth I had never felt and I was waking up tethered to a tree after two hours of rest in the rain, aloneness burning icy across my skin.

I was everything I had ever done leaking forward and slipping out. There had been a pattern to this once, hadn't there. Had one thing come after another in a neat progression? It sloshed and churned.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

I opened my eyes. I didn't think I ever would. Time seemed to have stopped, or slowed down. I was only in one place. The pain was still in my chest, but it was duller. I was dizzy, I wasn't sure if the world was spinning or I was. I sloshed in my own body. I closed my eyes to ease the spin and felt the ground I was on with my fingertips. It was a bed. I was on a bed. This surprised me. I didn't sleep on beds. I didn't think. I had been attacked. Or had I dreamed? My father would come with breakfast. I shook my head. He was dead. My father was dead. I was alone again. How was I on a bed?

I pulled my eyes open. I was in my room. My room. My room in the bunker. Was Dad alive? Had he saved me? Who else would take me here? Maybe I was confused. Maybe I was only a child and Dad would come in with pancakes and kiss me on the head and put my hair in pigtails and he would pick me up and tickle me until I cried and he would carry me to the library and tell me stories. I looked down at my bandaged woman's body.

I was in the bunker. But I was not a child and my father was not alive. I coughed and my throat scratched. It was so dry. Then there was water in front of me. My vision was dark on the sides still. I looked. Crowley stood there with water in his hand, concern on his face. But relief also.

"Bobby." he said. He said it like it had some inherent power, like a spell. "You're awake."

I was lost. Hadn't he abandoned me. That's what I remember.

"You ran away." I sounded accusatory. I didn't mean to. I did mean to. I meant to sound accusatory. To accuse him of running away and leaving me to die. I didn't think you could let someone curl up with you for months, or wake them up by playing with their hair then let them die alone. I wouldn't have let him die alone. I didn't let him die alone. Even when I didn't know who he was.

He scowled, "I didn't run away, pay attention. Who do you think stabbed Cas? But I did have to get behind him, didn't I? Do you want me to apologize for not standing sadly staring at you while you were murdered?"

His voice was rageful, I was willing to forgive him immediately. I would have been scared too, if it were me watching him not wake up, "No. No. Sorry. I just. You left your other companions." Then I touched my chest. It still burned. "So you killed Cas?"

"No." he replied shortly, he seemed to be ignoring my first comment, "No, he was slowed down but he didn't die."

I felt bad. He had never left me. He stabbed Cas, he carried me a state over. I scooted to the other side of the bed. His voice was making me feel crushingly alone. He took the cue correctly. He sat on the bed and leaned against the headboard. I turned over and curled up, my head on his stomach. His hand dropped into my hair. It was easy.

I wanted to sleep again. I was so tired. My eyes didn't stay open. I murmured to him, right before I dropped away again, "Crowley, Cas was so strong..."

He started a comforting platitude, "Yes, Kitten, you never could have - "

I ignored him and forged ahead, "What has he been eating?"

"Worry about that later."

I sat up and faced him, "No, Crowley, listen. He wasn't starving. He was playing with me. If he had just killed me to devour me, I'd be dead. They can kill in a heartbeat, I've seen it. I wavered, unsure for a moment where I was. I focused on Crowley and took a few breaths.

"He was playing with me, he was, the scratching, the teasing. If we were starving wouldn't have have just eaten me? He's been eating."

"You don't know that, the first generations are different from the others. You don't know how much he has to eat."

"What about the other one, that was a few generations down judging from its claws, but there were no ribs sticking out, it was still strong and smart. Crowley, I think they have people they're still eating."

"No. No they don't."

I snarled at him, "How do you know!"

He snarled right back, "BECAUSE WE WANT THEM TO HAVE PEOPLE THEIR STILL EATING! Don't you understand, Bobby? The world is empty, we're the last ones left, its going to be us then its going to be no one."

He said this with a tone of finality, and I thought he was used to people letting him do this, saying something final and letting it be final because he wanted it to be or he was scary enough to keep them quiet. I could have flinched and looked away. I could have laid my head back against him and allowed him to touch my hair. Its what he wanted me to do, and what would be easiest.

But I was the Queen of the Earth, damnit. But I calmed down. If I just got mad he would win, and this was the most important disagreement we had ever had. He was better at being full of emotion and vigor and talking his way out of things. So I would keep so calm that he would lose his edge. That was, at least, my theory.

So I sat back and looked at him with even eyes. I took a slow and soothed breath. "The Hellions were well fed, Crowley. Logically, since they didn't eat us, that means they have eaten something in the near past. That means other living things, other souls. We thought we were alone but we have new information now. I'm going to hunt them down. I have to hunt them down. They are in trouble and I am a Winchester. You can do as you like."

He looked at me for a long time, the anger was slipping out of his eyes, he looked scared. "We can't go looking for them. The claw didn't work on Cas, we don't have a single weapon against him."

I reached up and touched his cheek, "I have to go. I have to look. Come with me."

He raised his hand and pressed it against my fingers. "Sometimes I forget whose daughter you are."

**AN/ Thank you all for reading! I hope you're all enjoying it**

**Last chapter I was met with some overwhelmingly sweet reviews! I tried to respond to the ones logged in to spread how warm and cozy they made me but for all of you who weren't logged in THANK YOU! You're all so lovely! **

**TaTa Till Next Time!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: Screaming in the Night**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

Regardless of my enthusiasm to hunt the souls the Hellions were eating, I had conceded to wait until at least I was not in so much pain. I was still healing, it seemed to be taking a long ti me. The attack had been three weeks ago, the scratches across my clavicle had healed along with the stabbed claw marks in my chest. But occasionally I would lurch and time would swirl and I would forget the division between past and present. It was as though my memories had been slowly developed sediment and it had all been mixed up by the wounds. Nor had the pain been entirely relieved. It would go through long periods where I felt no pain at all, then, without warning it would slice back up my skin. It was less crippling than it had been.

Neither one of us knew how to heal wounds to the soul. Or if they could be healed.

But we had planned to use our time safe in the bunker for good. There were maps in there, maps that meant a whole lot more to me now than they had when I had been homebound. We had poured hours into them, whole days. I would fall asleep sometimes, my face pressed against the map I had been studying. I'd wake up draped in a blanket. All the effort came to nothing. We couldn't come up with a single solid reason why the Hellions should be anywhere over somewhere else. And besides, if it were anywhere other than this continent we were going to a have a hell of a time reaching it. Crowley, who could once move around the world at a snap of his fingers, could barely make it across a room.

Alongside the frustration of the search, being home with Crowley was unusual. My tendency was to continue the routines I had had when I was growing up, locked alone here. I would talk out loud, occasionally as though I was talking to someone else. A ghost. Sometimes Crowley was out of the room and wouldn't notice, and sometimes he was behind me and would furrow his brow. But he made sounds and told stories to no one as I slept, so I felt a certain amount of justification.

In other ways it was comfortingly domestic. I had taken to sleeping in pajamas, since the threat of having to leap from unconsciousness into battle was almost nothing. Crowley had started wearing them to sit there while I slept. I thought he would have done something else, kept searching the maps, read something, done anything. But he followed me to bed every time I made it there and sat for the duration of the night. It was possible that he needed me more than I had anticipated. I wasn't about to complain. He was the only thing that separated me from the oppressively loneliness, I liked to keep him close.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

I was in the Library, looking over maps, I hit my fist against the table in frustration. Crowley looked up at me.

"They could be anywhere, Crowley, they have wings for God's sake! They could be in heaven or hell or anywhere!"

"Yes, darling, we established that." His tone was condescending, I interpreted that as his own frustration.

"So." I was unsure of my plan, it was idiotically dangerous, but I thought the only shot we had, "Let's capture one."

He raised an eyebrow at me, "You share your father's tendency toward suicidal schemes."

"Or, we can stay here forever looking at maps that don't mean anything. Come on, if we found a little sick one it wouldn't be hard to capture it and...make it tell us where it's home was...well I mean I might...I mean if you...I mean...do you know how to do that?"

He looked at me in genuine noncomprehension, "Do I know how to do what?"

"Make people tell you things?"

A smile crept across his face, he looked like he was trying not to laugh, "Are you asking me if I know how to torture people for information?"

I blinked and wriggled my nose in discomfort, "I mean...do you?"

He did laugh then, and not condescending laughter either, "Bobby, I'm the King of Hell. I'm a demon. I'm familiar with torture." I had forgotten, actually, that he was the King of Hell. I mean, for God's sake he hadn't changed out of his pajama pants and had a bit of pen ink streaked across his nose, how was I supposed to remember he was big and bad and important?

"Right. So that's the plan. We'll capture a Hellion, you'll figure out where it came from."

"There's a dungeon in the basement that should be suitable."

I frowned at him, "Yeah...I know that. How do you?" Then I smiled and laughed, "Did my dad imprison you?!"

He had fire in his eyes, and gritted teeth, "A long time ago."

I wanted to tease him but I thought that the overbearing anger that had replaced the amusement of a moment ago might have been embarrassment, so I let it go.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

The plan was straightforward and wildly dangerous. I would go outside, make a bunch of noise and movement and hopefully draw out a Hellion. When one arrived, I would attack it, wound it, and Crowley would swoop in with enough chains to keep it down. That was the plan. I recognized that I had the most dangerous and suicidal part in it, but to be fair, it had been my plan, and hand to hand combat wasn't really in his wheelhouse.

I armed myself with my dagger claw, which, now that I was home, I had fashioned into a real dagger, taking apart a dagger that had been in the armory and clamping its hilt onto the end of the claw, which I had whittled down into a spike. I left the business end alone, not knowing what aspect of the claw it was that worked against the Hellilittles. Crowley called the weaker and younger Hellions, Lower Hellions, and refused, point blank, to call them Hellilittles. Because he was no fun at all.

I waited until night, my idea for noise worked better at night. With Crowley waiting in the wings I dragged a heavy box outside onto the highway. I opened it and, after taking out the dozen or so fireworks contained inside, purchased originally for my father and my fourth of July when I was six, which he hadn't made it home for. I set them up meticulously, arranging them just so. I lit the fuse and waited.

With a colossal roar they exploded into the air, lighting the entry way to the bunker with a kaleidoscope of sparks and bangs. If that didn't alert the Hellions, we were without hope. I looked up at them and, despite the peril of my position, laughed with glee. They ignited the sky and, momentarily distracted I chased the sparks as they fell.

I didn't stay forgetful for long. My biggest fear was that Cas would come baring down on me, rather than a vanquishable Hellilittle. One of the reasons we had remained so close to the bunker. If Cas came, we were going to run.

I didn't have to wait long. In the star sprinkled sky I saw a dark shape flit passed. I drew my dagger. Its shriek cut through the night air and, in a tumult of wings and teeth it landed in front of me. Standing right before me I reconsidered calling it a Hellilittle. Helliterrifyinglyenourmous would have been more fitting. I had forgotten just how tall they were. Especially the younger ones, so little like the angel corpses they were inhabiting. 

He stood at least three heads above me, long jagged claws flexing and snapping. The claws on his feet digging into the pavement. He pulled back his lips even more beyond the teeth that perpetually stuck out and hissed, fangs glistening in the moonlight. This one was not like the other I had fought. It was not sickly and starving, nor was I catching it unawares at it prepared to feast on someone else. Its full attention was on me, and its body was taut and muscled.

It stalked toward me, claws reaching out. I slashed at its hand with the dagger and, when the blade cut across it, it yelped and jumped away, snapping its teeth in threat. It stood very still for a moment, then unfurled its wings and rushed me. I tried to dance back but was not fast enough. I ducked beneath its outstretched claws and spun, putting me behind it. It turned faster than I had anticipated and clubbed me sideways with its wing. I fell to the asphalt and scrambled away. I looked up as it flung itself at me again, I couldn't get up in time.

Unable to dodge or flee I closed my eyes on instinct. I felt its hot breath on my face, but it didn't rip me apart. I opened my eyes slowly. It was thrashing, pulling at bond attached to its wrists and ankles, unable to pull away and less than a foot from me. I scrambled backwards, away from it.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

Having that thing inside my home was ruining me. I no longer felt safe inside, I didn't know if I would again here, even with it gone. I now only slept when Crowley was there to remain awake. Terrified that it wasn't really held down by those chains. I had stayed briefly to see what Crowley meant by torturing it. I had a vague idea of what it entailed but I wasn't sure about the particulars. I couldn't stay more than a few moments.

Human though it wasn't' the Hellion's screams tore beneath my skins and took root inside my heart. I had thought I was tough. I thought my years alone and drenched in danger, my earliest friends pulled from the dead, the unfading vision of my father being torn apart, his blood spurting in arcs, I thought all this had hardened me. And they were the reason for all of the hurt I had felt, every loss, every moment in suffocating solitude would never have been inflicted on me if it weren't for the Hellions.

I had thought I might have even relished watching him torture them, watching him cut on them for a change. The screams didn't sooth my old wounds like I thought they might, I wondered if Hellions had names. Were there other Hellions, calling out the name of the one we had captured? I wondered if Hellions could love one another. If I found the right Hellion, would it be as much torture to let it listen as to cut the other one apart? I couldn't stand to hear those screams.

It lasted for days. Being alone had felt like stumbling toward madness, listening to those screams was sprinting to it. I talked without stopping to my ghosts, scrabbling to keep a noise that rose above the sounds.

I was in the entryway, leaning against the door. It was the farthest away from the dungeon I could get. Footsteps approached.

"I know where they are, Kitten," Crowley announced proudly. He was still holding the knife, hands blood stained. He looked down at me then, after a moment, he cocked his head. "What are you doing up here?"

"Nothing." I said shortly, I had been my plan to torture the Hellion, I wasn't going to tell him what it was doing to me.

"Where are they?" I asked, my voice was softer than I would have liked.

"Not in Heaven, which means we might actually be able to reach it. They're in South Dakota. Sioux Falls, South Dakota."

I perked up, "Bobby Singer was from Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Oh, Bobby Singer was Dad's ...adoptive father sort of."

Crowley laughed briefly, "I know Bobby Singer, I owned his soul briefly."

I bared my teeth at him out of instinct.

"Calm down, darling, I said briefly. I gave it back."

I stood up, "So what are we going to do with the Hellion?"

"We'll kill it I suppose," he punctuated his comment with a twisted grin, "Eventually, I mean."

I choked down my shudder at his implication. I held out my hand, "Can I?"

He smiled at me, looking pleased, "Of course, darling." He handed me the claw knife he was still holding. "If you want, I could teach you a few tricks."

I gave him what I intended to be a charming smile, "I wish you would."

He gave e a lascivious smile and followed me to the dungeon. When I walked in my shoulders stiffened, seeing the mangled Hellions chained from the ceiling, blood dripping onto the floor.

I hefted the knife.

Crowley stepped to the side, allowing me to approach the Hellion, "Alright, kitten, what you want to do is, very delicately - "

In a single movement I shoved the knife through the Hellion's chest. It shook and went limp, hanging dead in the chains.

I turned back to Crowley, who looked startled and irritated. "Do you understand what it means to torture someone."

I looked at him morosely, the many days of not sleeping, of listening to that screaming and being haunted by the images of a Hellion mourning somewhere in South Dakota closed in on me.

"Do you?"

**AN: Thank you everybody for reading. The reviews I got for last chapter were, as always, warm and lovely. To all my anonymous reviews I can't send thank you's to, THANKS! You guys light up my inbox!**

**Next update in a few days!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14: Make a Deal Keep It**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

We were set to leave for South Dakota not long after that, as soon as we gathered the requisite provisions and made a few new knives from the dead Hellion. Our preparations had taken us about a week. A strange and quiet week. I had anticipated Crowley being angry with me for killing the Hellion, but I'm not sure he had been. I caught him, sometimes, staring at me. Narrowed and intense eyes. I had occasionally made that same stare in my youth, usually at puzzle books my father bought for me when I couldn't make those little pictures go 3D.

I was in the kitchen, making the last warm meal I would have until after South Dakota. Privately, I was making what was probably my last warm meal. I was standing at the stove, muttering to Mary. I shivered. I could feel someone, someone real and breathing and not a ghost that lived in my head. I looked over my shoulder and jumped. Crowley was standing there, not a foot away from me, just staring at me, his eyes were dark and focused. I jumped.

"Crowley, what the hell?"

He didn't react, just kept his level and even stare.

"Crowley, stop it."

He didn't. He continued staring at me, brow pressed together, unmoving.

I turned to face him completely. "Crowley!" I nearly shouted.

He blinked turned to walk away.

"Crowley, stop."

He didn't.

I took a few steps, beating him to the door and put out my hand, "Damnit, Crowley, what the hell was that about? You just creep up behind me, stare at me, and swoosh of when I ask you about it?"

He fixed me with an angrier version of the stare he just relieved me from. "You baffle me."

"Huh?" I tilted my head at him, the side of my mouth pulled up in confusion.

His look intensified again and he took a step toward me until he was in my face, a few inches away. "Why aren't you tearing into that Hellion right now?"

I blinked, "…because he's dead."

"Yes."

He took a step forward, I stepped back. He was looking straight into my eyes. He reached his hand up and touched my cheek so lightly he nearly didn't touch it. As though I was made of crystal and I could break at the slightest breath.

"You killed it."

"I was there."

He furrowed his brow, "Why did you kill it? It's the reason your family is dead. It's the reason you spent your entire childhood alone…the reason we are so hopeless. Don't you want…" he trailed off. He was breathing rather harder than he should have been just standing there.

"What? Don't I want what?" I took another step back, he followed me again. I was feeling uneasy.

"Revenge. Don't you want revenge? Didn't it feel good to put a knife in its ribs?"

I looked at him for a long time. It hadn't felt good to kill him. The first one had felt good, the one that I had killed to save Crowley in New York. It felt good to know how to kill them, to know I didn't have to spend the rest of my life as toothless prey. It had felt good to have it dead, relieving. No more screams and no more dangerous, hungry beast in my haven. But to actually kill it hadn't felt good. I shrugged. But I didn't' really know how to answer him, so I didn't.

I looked at him for a long time then said, "Do you think the Hellions ….care about each other?"

The intensity of his gaze disappeared and was replaced by confusion. "What? I…I haven't considered it. Does it matter?"

"Answer me."

"They killed each other for food."

"They were starving, that isn't an answer."

"No, I don't think they care about each other. They enjoy murdering, Bobby."

I bit my lip and looked at him, "So do you."

He looked at me oddly, "You don't want revenge, do you, Bobby? You just want to save the people who are left." Then he stepped back and gave me a forced chuckle. "Are you sure you're Dean's daughter?"

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

It was an odd way to travel. Well, it was a very practical and normal way to travel, it was odd seeing Crowley traveling like we did, in rough and sturdy clothes, strapped with knives and provisions. I had trimmed my hair again, short enough that you couldn't get a grip on it, looking feminine was not nearly as important to me as not being dragged around by a hair handle.

And thus prepared, we set out for South Dakota. I felt odd about the trip, I had always wanted to see South Dakota, where Old Bobby had lived. But I had never envisioned walking into a den of this caliber of monster. Monsters half of whom we didn't have any idea how to kill or hurt.

I buoyed my spirits with the thoughts of freeing their captives. I had been telling the truth when I told Crowley that I didn't relish killing them, but that didn't mean I wasn't perfectly willing to.

I thought of the captives. It was impossible to know how many we would find, if we found any at all, if we could even manage to help them. Would we take them back to the bunker? There could be a small city of them for all I knew. Anyone could be among them. People who knew my father, murders, strapping young men. I wondered if I would be as fond of Crowley if there were other people around to be fond of.

Crowley was quiet for the length of the trip. So was I. I was scared, and I think Crowley was too.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

We were outside their encampment. Singer Garage. It was Old Bobby's garage. His home, my father's first home. I thought it had burned down, I thought that's what Dad told me. We were outside of it. I couldn't breathe. I could see three Hellions from here, strong, well fed Hellions. I gripped my knife for support.

At the moment we were underneath an old and broken car, there were many of them, we could crawl all the way to the house underneath them. And that was the plan, we had ditched our bags and were on our bellies, crawling through the oily dirt. Slightly in the lead, I stopped at the edge of a car, this part made my heart stop, getting from under one car to under another. I took a long and precious breath. I curled my toes underneath me, prepared to spring forward and roll to the next car.

The second before I moved there was a crunch above us and the car lowered down on us a fraction. A Hellion was on top of our car. My body went rigid, I held my breath.

Crowley very slowly crept forward until he was level with me. He made eye contact with me and shrugged. We had no idea how long the Hellion would be there, if it could smell us. I imagined its fanged face appearing upside down in the gap between the car and the ground and I thought my heart would rip itself out of my body. I was so close to Crowley I could hear his heart too, hammering.

Slowly, using all my care to keep from making a single sound I reached out and took Crowley's hand. He gripped it like a vice. It was there, under that car with holding his hand, neither of us breathing, that I understood how afraid he was. He was trembling.

The Hellion leapt off the car, we could hear it shake above us, and clawed feet landed hard in front of us. Inches away from my face. Crowley flinched horribly, clenching shut his eyes. My blood was propelling so fast through my body I was afraid I would pass out. The feet disappeared. Exhaling silently Crowley leaned his head against my shoulder in relief. I peered out, I couldn't see it.

"Let's go." I mouthed to him, then I prepared myself again to make the crossing.

He grabbed my shoulder. I looked back, he was rigid. "Bobby," he whispered then scooted forward enough to whisper a breath of a sound into my ear, "Bobby, before we go, I have…a deal for you."

I looked at him uncomprehending and mouthed, "Now?"

"Listen," he breathed, "Please."

I hesitated, my long ago learned distrust of any deals of his. _Never, no matter how smart you think you're being, make a deal with him. _Dad had said, or something like that. It was the first thing that I had learned about him.

I nodded. We were trapped under a car together in an Auto Shop of Monsters, I owed it to him to at least hear him out.

He twisted his head and looked right at me, "Here are my terms, if I live through this, so do you."

I stared at him for awhile and shook my head in noncomprehension.

He reiterated, "I'm making a deal, Bobby, I keep my deals. And I require those who make them with me to keep them too. So, make this deal with me. If I live, then you do too."

I shook my head, "No way."

He looked like I had punched him. "Bobby!" he hissed at me, but I cut him off.

"It's gotta go the other way too."

He grinned at me and nudged me affectionately, "Are you negotiating? _With me?_" He whispered.

I turned my head to look at him, "Do you want to make a deal or not."

He nodded and smirked, "It only works if we seal it, kitten."

I shrugged and nodded, I was pretty sure that he didn't have the Hellpower needed for deal making anyway, so whatever ritual he had couldn't be of any harm.

He reached up and wrapped his hand around my collar, I flinched back, unsure of what he was doing. He pulled me forward and pressed his lips against mine. Before I could even react he had released me and begun his crawl across the open terrain. It took me a moment to follow him.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

If the crawl from the road to the house had been terrifying, it was nothing to being inside the house. We were without cover, alive only because the room happened to be empty. Crowley was leading now, he seemed to have an inkling where we were going. There were no Hellions, except the one we had seen outside. That concerned me. We were side stepping toward a staircase that led downward. When we got to its edge we could hear footsteps from below.

Crowley reached backwards, I touched his hand, then he began his descent, with me following closely behind him.

It was hard to hear above my heart. It was only safe to assume the footsteps were Hellions, but they could be people too. I could be finding people right now.

I was right in my first assumption. As we neared the bottom of the stirs it became clear that the footsteps were being made by something with claws, the clicking was horrific. I tugged at Crowley's sleeve, making him stop, I could hear a harsh voice.

"Boy," it hissed, "It's been long enough for you, it's time to take me."Crowley and I peered around the corner toward the voice. A Hellion, and from the look of it, one of the first Hellions, still more human looking than they would eventually become, was standing in an iron doorway, its back to us. My instinct was to rush it, stab it down, but we didn't have a weapon. I could only wait. Crowley seemed to foresee my instinct, however, and put a hand out to keep me back. The creature stalked into the room and disappeared from view.

Then I heard it, soft crying, shuddering crying. I stepped forward but Crowley pushed me roughly back and mouthed "Wait."

I could hear those clicking steps and was terrified I was about the hear another human death. There was a flash of light and then, I could only hear crying. I shoved passed Crowley and rushed the room, knife drawn. Inside was an iron crypt, Crowley didn't follow.

I came up short. Tethered to the wall in chains was a young boy, looking no older than ten and not a Hellion in sight. I had seen one go in, where had it gone.

He looked up at me, tears bright on his little dirty face, "Help me!"

His eyes were sunken, his cheeks hollow. "Watch my back, Crowley," I hissed at him then went to the boy, breaking the locks and freeing him. He collapsed into my arms. I picked him up and held him close. His little heart was beating hard. He was beautiful. A beautiful little creature .

"Are there others?" I whispered. His head buried in my shoulder he shook his head. He was bleeding from the wrist. "Crowley," I said turning around, "we have to get out of here."

He nodded, "Come on then, there are demon traps, I can't come in." I quieted the boy.

"Crow, how are we going to get out of here with him? We can't crawl." I came out of the iron room to meet him.

He looked at the boy then up at me, lingering on my arms wrapped around the boy, my hand making soothing circles on his little back.

"I'll go first, get their attention. You come after with the boy. We'll meet up in an hour."

I hissed at him, "Crowley, no."

He scoffed like I was being an idiot, "If you get out alive I can't die."

I frowned, certain that that was an oversimplification if not plainly wrong. "Crowley."

He reached up and touched my face, "Make a deal, keep it, kitten."

Then he was gone, up the stairs and out.

I pulled the boy close, "You have to be really quiet, ok."

He nodded and tried to still his cries. I went up to the porch and looked out. I saw Crowley there, brandishing a knife. I heard him yell, angry and gravely into the sky, "Come out and fight, you bastards!" Shadows were congealing above him. Then he took off, sprinting away, the shadows following him out of my sight.

A slice of guilt went through me, I wouldn't have chosen to trade Crowley for this boy. The boy was a child. I was becoming a monster.

I careened out of the door after him, keeping low and quiet, sprinting out of the junk yard. Not a Hellion was in the sky. Holding the quaking boy I made it all the way out to our rendezvous spot. I stopped there. Set down the boy. And I waited. But he did not come. I was cradling the boy, trying to keep my own distress from overcoming me. I watched where I expected him to appear and gripped the boy as I held him. I whispered to myself harshly as I counted the minutes he didn't come, "Make a deal. Keep it."

**AN: Here you are, darlings! So much ACTION in this one! Well, good news for all of you, I'm really excited for the next chapter and thus it will be up SOON!**

**Also, this chapter is dedicated to Laurie Archer and her new darling of a fic "I Just Want to Be Loved."**

**Until next time, doll faces!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15: Life for Life**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

I waited at the rendezvous point for nearly a day. I wanted to wait longer, I would have waited longer. But I couldn't run if they found us, not with the boy. He was still shaking. And he needed food. If he was still alive, Crowley could take care of himself better than this kid. So I did what I thought my father would have done, picked up the boy and headed for home. I stole another car when I got to the first town, I didn't think the boy could manage a week of walking.

With a car we got home in eight hours. The boy hadn't said a word. Just sat in the car and shook. I wondered if they had been feeding off his soul, I wondered how much of him was left. I pulled the car into the garage and lifted the boy from the passenger seat. He clung to me. I took him to the kitchen and set him on a chair. He stared at me with big, sunken eyes. I turned away from him. He and I might be spending the rest of our lives together. I didn't want to start that out by letting him know that if I had known what the choices were, I would have left him behind. I didn't even know if he was whole.

I made some food and set it in front of him. He stared at it for awhile then set into it like a dog. When he was finished he looked up and me and, shaking, held out a tiny, bony hand.

"I'm Ethan."

I shook his hand, "Bobby."

He looked down. "You saved me."

He had a very serious little face, tiny scowl over his deep eyes, turned down corners of a thin mouth. "I'm sorry about your friend."

I flinched, "It isn't your fault, Ethan, and he might still be okay." His eyes were so much older than they should have been, I couldn't imagine what he had seen.

"Ethan, are you okay, I mean, did they feed on you…I mean…did they ever cut you and take out blue light?"

He shook his head but tears started leaking from his eyes. He crumpled, pulling himself into a ball, his head on the table. "It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault."

I stared at him, I wasn't sure what was happening. This was the first child I had ever interacted with. Did they normally do this?

I touched his shoulder, "What's your fault, Ethan?"

He looked up at me frantically, tears running rivulets down his cheeks. "Can I have more dinner?"

"Uh…yeah ok," I gave him some more food and watched him devour it. I wondered how much they fed him. Then, his face fell onto the table, dead asleep.

I sighed and hoisted him up. I carried him to a bedroom and deposited him on the bed. I started leaving then thought for a moment. I turned back to him and pulled off his shoes, then I left. Letting him sleep alone.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

He was a strange little guy to have around. He was nearly always silent, slinking through the bunker like a four foot tall shadow, but sometimes I could hear him crying, and sometimes I could hear him shouting. I understood, really. I had gone nearly mad when I had been alone, and Ethan had been so much worse than alone.

I tried to focus on taking care of him, but I missed Crowley. Missed him especially when I slept alone. I could stay busy during the day, target practice, or cleaning, or reading. But I couldn't forget he was gone when I curled up and no one's heart beat under my ear.

In the morning, I was making breakfast for myself and Ethan, I had never had to cook for anyone else before Ethan, it felt very domestic.

Ethan appeared in the doorway, he was wearing some clothes I had found that were almost his size, a big shirt and pajama bottoms I had torn off at the right length. I shuffled when he walked.

"G'morning," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes, he climbed up on the stool, "What's for breakfast?"

I gave him the reconstituted eggs and cereal, "Food that can't spoil."

He pushed at it with his fork, "You should go after your friend."

"I can't leave you here."

He made his little tiny scowl, "Why not, Bobby?" he said, hitting his little fist on the table, it was still too bony. "It's safe here, you said. So give me enough food and go and look for him."

"I'm not doing that."

He scowled, "Why not?"

"I could die, Ethan, and then you'd be all alone. You'd have to grow up alone here."

He stood up in his seat and leaned over at me, "I'll be okay!"

I pushed him back softly and touched his hair, "I grew up alone here, Ethan, and I'm not doing that to you." I leaned down and kissed him on the top of the head.

He leapt up and threw his arms around me. "Thank you, Bobby. I don't want to be alone."

I left. I didn't want him to know how hard it was for me not to put food in a bag and take off after Crowley. I couldn't stop the thoughts of him bleeding out, alone on the highway. Or being held in the claws of a Hellion, his soul being pulled out of his body. Or his demon essence, or spirit, or whatever it was that he had and they ate. But the madness of growing up alone had touched me deeply, and I didn't want to inflict that on a little boy I had just saved. So I stayed.

I stayed and taught Ethan how to shoot, he didn't take to it naturally, his body was so small he kept falling over when he shot. I taught him how to find food in the wild, and how to strip food from old cities. I gave him a claw knife and told him to keep it with him everywhere he went, to never let it out of his sight.

Sometimes I sat with him for hours in the library, and we read, or I read to him, and sometimes he read to me. Then, in the evening, I'd order him off to bed. Then I'd make myself tea and crawl into the escape hatches. I crawled all the way to the exit by the door and look out over the highway, hoping for Crowley's return. I'd stay awake as long as I could, then sleep, curled up in the shaft. But Crowley never came.

It was two weeks into my nightly vigils that I began my day trips. I didn't want to leave Ethan, but I was restless. Maybe if Crowley had just died I would have been alright, I had survived death. But he could be bleeding, crawling his way toward home. Would he have come after me? It was my fault he was dead. We had saved Ethan, that was worth something. I didn't know how I was supposed to compare one life to another. Was Ethan's life worth more because he was a child? I wanted desperately to believe that I would exchange my life for Crowley's, but how could I justify leaving a child in his care? I had survived death before. I had not survived being the cause of death.

So I started my trips around the edges of the Bunker, looking for tracks, listening for movement. There was nothing. He was gone.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

It was in the third week of searching. Crowley had been gone for over a month. The prospects of his survival were beginning to look grim. I was outside, I had brought Ethan with me. His dark hair was getting shaggy around the ears, I ruffled it.

"We'll trim this tonight, if you want." I said to him.

He looked up at me. He had started wearing glasses from the Bunker, reading glasses I thought. He said he used to wear glasses but they had broken when he was taken. These were the best I could come up with. They magnified his eyes and made him sort of look like a soft brown bug. I was pleased with my care for him. His cheeks were less hollow, he was less bony. He was looking much softer.

"Ok," he said, "Can I cut yours?"

I laughed, "Sure thing, kiddo." Because who cared if I looked ridiculous if he had a good time. It wasn't as if there were anyone around to see me. "Ok, kid," I said, shoving him on the shoulder, "Go out, find us dinner. Be back before dark."

I had started doing this sometimes. Making sure he could fend for himself. If I got killed I wasn't going to set him up to starve to death. He ran off, tripping slightly in the leather wrapped shoes I had made. Eventually I would make a drive for the nearest town, grab some stuff that would fit him. But not until I was sure he would make it if I never came back. I sat on the ground and leaned against a tree. I didn't want to go with him, so that he could rummage for food on his own, but I made sure I could still hear him. It was easy, there was no noise other than his little messy feet.

I closed my eyes, the sun was sparkling down on me, the heat felt nice. I snuggled closer to the tree and listened carefully to Ethan's footsteps. I had been listening for fewer than ten minutes when, to my right, in the opposite direction of Ethan, I heard footfalls. I leapt to my feet, dagger in my hand. I started maneuvering backwards. I needed to reach Ethan but never take my eyes off the direction of the other noise. Hellions weren't going to take him away from me too.

I reached Ethan and hissed, "get behind me, something is coming." His eyes went wide and he slid behind me, clinging to my jacket. I crouched, shielding him as widely as I could and waited. The footsteps were coming closer, I readied my knife.

And Crowley broke into my line of sight. I gasped, and dropped my knife. I let out a wounded shriek and launched myself forward. It might have been embarrassing but he, upon seeing me, had dropped the knife he had been holding let out a noise like a hyena. I gripped him like a hallucination. The embrace he returned was painful.

"I thought you were dead. Crowley, I thought you were dead. You're not dead. You're not dead." I muttered into his shoulder.

He pressed his head into my hair, "I keep my deals, love." He was alive.

But he was not uninjured. Little spurts of black mist were leaking from a wound in his shoulder, blood soaked through his shirt.

"Crowley, your shoulder." I touched near it, feeling the blood on my fingers.

"Oh, noticed, did you?" He grimaced, but smirked at me. "I see the boy turned out fine."

"Yeah," I gestured behind me but didn't take my eyes off of Crowley, "His name's Ethan."

"That's lovely, kitten, but they followed me, we need to get back to the bunker."

I leapt away from him, sliding in a jolt into action. "Ethan, come on" I seized his hand and began to go back toward the bunker. I wanted to sprint but Ethan was tiny and Crowley limping. I could hear the wings. Perhaps I was imagining it.

We made it to the door and scrambled inside, the boys in, I pushed the heavy door closed. Then I looked at them. Both of them, safe in the bunker. I let out a single, victorious laugh then I turned to Crowley.

"Come on, come to the library, I'll patch you up."

He followed me to the library, where the light was the best and sat, groaning when he did. I had to cut his shirt off; pieces of it were sticking into the wounds. He tensed as I pulled the strips of fabric out of his torn flesh. I cleaned the wounds and stitched them closed. He grimaced as a I worked, clenching shut his teeth.

"I'm sorry, Crow." I murmured as I finished stitching and starting putting on bandages.

He looked up at me through half clenched shut eyes, "For what, Kitten?"

"Leaving you. I should have come looking for you. I should have-"

He cut me off with an incredibly Crowley sneer, it made me smile, "-done just what you did, darling. I would have left the kid, Hell, I never would have gone for him."

I secured the last bandage. "You're all patched up." I said softly. I was so relieved he was back, a lightbulb had been replaced in my brain.

"So, Ethan?"

"Yeah," I said, he got up from the stiff backed chair and moved to one of the much preferable couches. I joined him, putting my head on his good shoulder, he dropped an arm around me. I listened to his heartbeat.

"Did he tell you anything?"

"No…why?"

He turned his head and looked at me, "Kitten, I think there may be something we should know about him."

I glowered, "Stop being needlessly vague and threatening, Crow, just tell me."

"The Hellions caught me, love, immediately, but they let me live so I could lead them to the boy. They want him desperately. We need to know why."

A sniffle came from the doorway. I lifted my head from Crowley's shoulder and looked over at Ethan who stood in the doorway, eyes magnified by his glasses, glistening with tears. He took one look at Crowley then looked away.

"It's my fault, Bobby." His whole body was shaking.

I stood up and went over to him, kneeling before him. "What is your fault, Ethan? What happened while you were a prisoner?"

His mouth was quivering like he was choking down real sobs, "I took them back."

I frowned, "Took them back where?"

Crowley was standing now, behind me, Ethan continued, stopping occasionally to sharply inhale. "They didn't have any food, they needed food, so they took me and made me. I didn't want to, Bobby."

I brushed his hair back, "It's ok, Ethan, I know, I know."

"I took them where they could find more food."

"Where, Ethan, please."

He let a heartbroken sob escape, "I took them back in time."

**AN: I hope you all enjoyed, heads up NEXT CHAPTER IS GOING TO BE A THRILL RIDE! It should be up probs tomorrow night. **

**Also, I have an idea that I don't know if anyone will be interested in, but if there is anyone who writes fanfics (or anything) that would like to form a coalition (I mean that in the least serious way possible) to give really detailed and (constructively) harsh critiques for each other and help each other develop our writing please PM me. Or throw me a message on my tumblr VoteKingCrowleyFanfiction **** blog/votekingcrowleyfanfiction**

**Thanks for reading!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16: The Destruction of and Innocent Heart**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

I stared at Ethan, "You…..you took them where?" I was breathless. His little face was dark and serious. I could still hope that he was wrong, but he wasn't lying. I looked up at Crowley with a stricken face. His brow was furrowed

"Back in time." Tears were pouring down his face, his entire body was shaking. His hands hung limply by his sides. I looked up at Crowley, his eyebrows were raised, mouth open very slightly.

Ethan raised his head and looked at Crowley and the poor boy broke, he let out an animalistic howl and threw himself into my arms, shrieking. "I'm sorry, Bobby, I'm sorry. I di-din't mean to."

Crowley, a sneer cutting across his face, barked at him, "Who gives a damn if you didn't mean to, you little cretin, do you have any idea what you've done, you pint sized worm?!" His voice grew in volume as he spoke until he was nearly yelling, face screwed up and turning red.

Ethan's tears redoubled and he cuddled into my chest. I pulled him tight against me. I stood, lifting him up. I turned, and tucked his head onto my shoulder, shielding him from Crowley. I snapped over my shoulder, "Don't you yell at him!" I had felt a sudden rush of protectiveness for my boy. I had fed and clothed and kept him, he was a dead man without me, he was my boy.

Crowley looked taken aback and infuriated. "Me?" He shouted, pointing at himself, "don't yell at him?" His voice was incredulous and filled with fury, "I AM THE KING OF HELL I WILL YELL AT WHOM I PL-"

I hissed at him in a restrained voice, "I don't care what you are, I don't care if you're Castiel or God or the King of Nothing. Nobody. Yells. At. Him." I stroked Ethan's hair. It was so much softer than it had been, he was just starting to really get healthy. I carried him over to the couch and I set him down. Crowley didn't follow us. I brushed his hair back tenderly and wiped the tears from his eyes.

"Eth, I know you didn't mean to, you didn't have a choice, they had you chained in a dungeon. How could you have done anything else."

He sniffled and blinked at me through his glasses, "You…you aren't mad?"

I smiled at him and touched his face, "I could never be mad at you, sweetie." My little thing, pulled from the fire. Crowley's reemergence had quelled the panic that had overtaken me for the last weeks. Without its distraction, the warmth of the boy was so much more severe. Somewhere behind me Crowley made an indignant noise. I continued in my soft tone, "But it's really important. Can you tell me what you meant? How did you take them back in time? What did you do?"

"I'm Ethan Snider."

I looked at him nonplussed, "I'm going to need a little more."

"My mother named me after my father. It was the name she knew him by…but it wasn't his real name."

Crowley had walked over, he was uncharacteristically quiet.

Ethan trembled. I stroked his hair again, "What was his name, Ethan?"

Ethan looked up at me, his eyes were so big and so brown and so sweet. "Chronos."

I jerked back. Crowley swore.

Crowley pulled me to my feet, "Bobby we need-"

But he never got that change to tell me what we needed to do, he was cut off by a colossal rumbling bang. We both twisted around. I thought I might have been dying. My body shuddered underneath me. "Crowley," I whispered and a trembling voice, "They're here."

Crowley shoved me roughly toward the door on the other end of the room, "Go!" he shouted, his voice gravely and frightened.

"But-" I started, "They can't get in! This is the bunker. It's impenetrable." I could hear them inside, but I couldn't make myself understand.

He pushed me harder, I was clinging to Ethan, "Darling, so was Bobby Singer's panic room they were using as a lounge." I pulled Ethan tight to my and fled from the room. His hands were clawed in to my back, his head crushed against my shoulder. Crowley fled after us, slamming shut the doors to the library. I lead us down the deepening corridors, Crowley tight on my heels. I could feel the fear burning off of him. I slid down next to a grate that I knew well. I slid it open and pulled Ethan off me.

"Crawl in, it's an escape hatch, you next, Crow."

"You go, Bobs." He growled.

I smirked up at him, despite the situation, "Now is a pretty stupid time to get all chivalrous, King."

He pulled a face and started to crawl in, as he was getting his shoulders passed the entrance he muttered, "Don't kid yourself, kitten, I just wanted to get a good look."

I shouldered him to move faster through the hatch and followed him through, pulling the door closed behind me. I was a little overcome with how ridiculous we looked. Ethan, reservations destroyed by terror had curled himself into Crowley's lap the second he stopped moving, Crowley was sitting, head bent sideways so he could sit up straight, looking surprised and aggravated that there was a child on his lap. Hair fuzzy from crawling through the small gap.

I pushed passed them, "Come on," I hissed. They followed me up a passage on all fours until the escape hatch opened up some. They followed me quietly until we came to my old nest, books, snacks and pillows untouched, if a bit dusty. I settled Ethan snuggly into the pillows.

"Crowley, what are we going to do?"

He looked at me seriously, a darkness creeping into his eyes. "We can't let them take him, Bobs."

"Well..yeah."

"Did you inherit your father's think skull?" he hissed, "He might have already destroyed everything, who knows how far he took them back. Who knows how much he has already destroyed?"

Ethan cut in, he seemed to have reined in his tears, "Not very far…I'm not like my dad…I can't just jump around…I just…I mean…it hurt a lot to take them back. I don't know though."

Crowley looked at me very seriously, "Bobby, if they get back before your dad killed Chronos, they could get anywhere, you wanted people to save, you've got the entire history of the world."

That hit me like a blow. They could be doing it right now. Murdering everyone. Everyone who had ever lived. My body felt cold.

"How would we do anything about that, Crowley," I whimpered. I thought I could feel where this was heading, and I was afraid. More afraid than I was of the Hellions lurking just below. "We have to go back farther than ANY of the other Hellions in order to even do anything."

"You can." Ethan's voice was small and scared and sure. This jarred me, I had expected Crowley's rough grumble. "I'm healthier than I ever was for them. If I gave you everything you could go back. Farther than I got any of them. You could save everybody, Bobby. You could."

His eyes were shining with fear and pride, I thought. I seized up, "What do you mean, give me everything?" I asked in less than a whisper. He looked so little, curled up in clothes too big for him, still too scrawny, wearing a man's glasses that magnified his wide eyes. Tucked into pillows. His hair was uneven. It needed to be cut. I should have cut his hair. What had I been doing? He was my responsibility. I was supposed to be looking after him. He was mine.

Crowley was quiet, looking between the two of us. Ethan spoke in a steady voice, "Time pulses as I do."

"What?!" I asked desperately, too afraid to parse riddles.

"It's my heart, Bobby, it has everything you need."

I shook my head, "No. No. We aren't doing it." My voice broke as I said it. I was crumbling. "Crowley, we aren't doing it."

"Darling-" he said in an exasperated voice. I looked at him, my shuddered eyes, beginning to fill with tears, met his and held him. His furrowed brow softened, "Of course not. Do you know a way out of here?"

I nodded, "Yeah. Follow –" I turned to lead them to the first of four exits to the world. The metal below me fell away with a screech. We dropped to the ground, falling more than ten feet onto the hard ground below. I felt my wrist crack as I hit the ground. The Hellions were above us, three of them, wings stretched broad, teeth clicking. I dove, rolling so my body was covering Ethan's. Crowley was already on his feet, he had pushed himself between Ethan and I and the Hellions.

He growled over his shoulder at me, all traces of empathy gone, "You have to kill him, Bobby." But I was not out of tricks. I had grown up here and was not about to murder this brown eyed boy. I shifted my body and kicked the wall hard, a panel fell through, revealing a shaft that dropped straight down. I shoved Ethan through then dropped through myself, shouting at Crowley to follow.

He did, quicker than I would have imagined, and he ended up squashed on top of me at the bottom of the shaft. We had dropped straight down into the deepest part of the bunker, the dungeon. I dragged myself out from under Crowley. That last drop had sent lances of pain up my arm.

"They'll have to go the long way, they can't get through that little shaft with their wings. We've got maybe a minute."

Crowley looked at me, "We have to-"

Ethan interrupted him, "You have to kill me." He had a knife he had pulled from my boot while I was getting my bearings pressed up against his throat, "If you don't, I'm gonna," his voice shook, "But if you do…you can save people. Bobby," a single sob crackled out of his throat, "Please."

I shuddered and nodded, not looking away from him. "Okay. Okay." I stifled my own throbbing tears, "Okay."

Crowley put his hand on my shoulder but I shrugged it off, "What do I have to do?"

Ethan bit his lip and shivered, his eyes were so big in those glasses. I had wanted to get him real clothing. Why hadn't I? What had been so important? I was supposed to take care of him. I was about the kill my little boy. I wondered what my father would think of me. "You have to eat it."

The ground pulled me down toward it in another fierce tug. I tried to remain upright. "What – Ethan – I can't." I couldn't. I couldn't do this.

"You have to eat my heart."

I couldn't. "Crowley, I can't. I can't. You should go."

He looked at me, "What?"

I crushed my tears, "You might have to live a hundred years fighting those things, I won't even live that long. It should be you."

He furrowed his brow and looked odd, "He's a god, who knows what you'll when you're done, it should be you. Cutting out a heart and eating it will take time. You should get started."

I shook my head and gave him the knife. He reached out his hand slowly, fingers tremblingly touching the knife's hilt, like he couldn't quite believe what was happening. The door crashed off of its hinges.

Crowley's back had been to the door, he swung around, making a barrier between us and them. "Sorry, Bobs, get busy." He growled.

I tightened my fingers on the knife and looked at Ethan, "I wanted to protect you." I whispered, pushing him down to the ground. He unbuttoned his shirt. It was so big for him. He was still so small, I was supposed to make him healthier, he had gained so much weight, I had been so proud. I had made markings on the door of his height. There were supposed to be so many more. I pushed the knife against his sternum.

He looked up at me. His eyes were the biggest, softest things. "Bye, Bobby."

I could barely keep my body doing what it was told, "Bye, Ethan, I love you so much."

He smiled a serious little smile, "Me too."

I shoved the knife down. I felt it push through his sternum, the little soldier, he tried so hard, he made it more than a second without screaming. It tore me apart. I cleaved him open, he wasn't dead, his blood was so hot on my hands. I couldn't breathe. I pushed my fingers around his protruding bone and wrenched it apart. It cracked open. His voice rent the dungeon then stilled. This was easier and so much harder. I cut free his heart and pulled it from its cavity. Finally he was gone. He was gone. My whole body shook. My boy. My boy. My boy. "CROWLEY I"VE GOT IT JUST RUN!"

I started shoving it into my mouth. I gagged, it was so hot. I crammed it down my throat, bile rising in waves. I would never forget how I felt. And, probably a few moments from death, with the body of my poor little boy in front of me and the impending destruction of my only friend behind me, I thought of my father, watching me sit in a pool of the blood of an innocent child, a heart between my teeth. Can you be a Hunter if you're a monster?

I glanced over my shoulder. I wanted to make sure Crowley at least got to the door. But he was hemmed in, cornered against the dungeon wall. I felt a tugging at the things inside of me. An inexorable pull. I stood, almost slipping off the ground with the pounding tug that bruised at me. I thought if I could get to him. Could I bring him with me? I stepped toward him. The pull intensified, I resisted. I felt my ribs crack. I took another step, reaching out my hand. "CROW!" I shouted, my voice echoed.

He spun around the Hellion nearest him and stretched out an arm. I slipped, I couldn't hold myself anymore and I fell away from that dungeon, that bunker, that time. Crowley clutched my bloody fingers.

**AN: Sorry about the tediously long wait on this one! I had boring real world things that dragged me away from warm soft fanfiction writing. But I am glad you have all made it so far into my madness!**

**Until next time. **


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17: Bonding**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

I want to make something clear right from the start. If you read the rest of my journal you're going to find stories of me doing heroic things. I saved people. A lot of people. I risked my life. More than once I sold being happy for other people's lives. I will be the center point of parades and festivals and celebrations. But I want you, you out of anybody to remember that I am not a hero. I can't ever be. How can I be a hero with that boy, my boy's blood on my hands. I told him I would protect him and I cracked open his sternum and fed on his heart. Sometimes I think I still taste the blood. Where would I even start to look for forgiveness?

My boy though, my brave little boy, who was mine so briefly, the fourth person I ever spoke to and the first who was mine to care for. He was in the charge of a monster, but he was great, he was a hero.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

The air pushed in on me, grasping through my mouth and down into my lungs, cold and empty. Crowley's hand was still clutching mine. I have not words for what was around us. My ill equipped eyes weren't made to distinguish it. The curling bursts around us were, had to be from the way they were moving, alive. I arched in pain. The cold pierced my flesh in sharp punctures. Shards of my flesh stripped from my body and burned away in the air. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't' move. I shuddered and shook, unsure that I would make it any longer.

The ground came at me like an attack. I couldn't even tell we were really moving and then the ground smashed against my back. I lay there dazed and shaking, my body in tremors of pain. I turned my head and looked at Crowley. He seemed better off than I was, he was already sitting up. At least he had fallen over too. I couldn't imagine living through the smirk he would have if he had landed on his feet.

I tried to move but my body didn't want to receive any commands. Crowley hoisted me into a sitting position and, slumping, I looked around me. We were in the bright sunlight. The really bright sunlight. I shielded my eyes. There was a river in front of us, a wide sloping river, green grass was under us. I could hear birds chirping. It sounded oppressively loud to me. I tried to push myself to my feet and whimpered. The skin across my whole body was cracked and burnt. More than a few of my ribs felt little less than shattered, and my wrist was still broken. I looked down at my wrist to assess the damage and saw my hands, crimson to the elbows. I hunched over, sick to my stomach. The ground spun under me. I could still taste Ethan's heart in my mouth. I puked on the ground, it came up red.

Crowley sighed and tugged me upwards. "Not really the time for this, darling. I understand the boy was close to you but –" he cut himself off and looked down at me, then, after a moment of silence he let me back down gently, he had been holding me up by the back of my shirt, my legs weren't up to the task of keeping me aloft. He continued, but his voice was much softer, "He was the first human you've ever killed isn't he."

I looked up at him. I could feel the blood crusting around my mouth and down my chin. The rest of my face was burnt and blistered. Blood ran all the way down my shirt. Covered my hands. My vision blurred. He walked down to the river and, after a brief contemplative pause took off his shirt which, under his jacket, remained rather clean. He submerged the cloth in the water and walked back up the bank to me. He crouched in front of me and starting to wipe the blood clean. I remained still, despondent. As he was cleaning the blood from my face he murmured consolingly, "Oh, kitten, no one's first time should be like that. You are supposed to hate them with your whole heart."

I was quiet for a long time and let him wash the blood from me.

Then I smiled, I think, and said in a little and crackling voice, "Tell me about yours."

He scrunched his face at me, "My first? The first person I ever killed? This is what you want to bond over?"

I nodded.

He looked at me sort of fondly, "As a human or as a demon?"

I considered the question, "Human."

The blood cleaned off, he took out a knife and starting cutting down a small stick, making a splint, I thought. He had sized it to my arm. He thought for a moment, "Are you sure you want to hear about me as a human? I wasn't as impressive as I am now."

I blinked and said in a tone trying hard to be sarcastically surprised, but I didn't quite make it, it sounded hollow, "Wow, you must have been so unimpressive!"

He tapped my nose with his forefinger, "Hush."

He tore his shirt into strips and starting wrapping it around my arm, tethering it to the splint. "Malcome Gilmore."

I interrupted him, "Did you kill a lot of people as a human?"

He furrowed his brow, "No, Kitten, just the one, and he had it coming."

"Is that why you went to hell?"

"No, I sold my soul to a crossroads demon." His voice was so gentle and soothing.

I laughed, "Really? For what?"

"Do you want to hear my story or not?" He snarked, looking uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry, go on." He finished tying the splint and started feeling his way down my ankles, checking for damage.

"So, Malcome Gilmore. He-" he cut himself of and looked at me for awhile, his hands temporarily still, "He was sleeping with my wife."

"You were married?"

"Of course I was, it was the 1600's everyone was married."

"Did you love her?"

He shrugged, "Not particularly. She had a nice dowry though."

I scrunched my eyes at him, "So why did you care?"

"I wasn't going to pay for someone else's squalling brat."

I felt uncomfortable, but let it slip passed, "How did you do it?"

"I jumped him from behind, hit him with a whiskey bottle until he stopped moving." He switched his tone suddenly, "That's all I can do, I can't help your ribs. I can't carry you, can you stand?"

I nodded and pushed myself slowly to my feet. "What was your name?"

"You know that's very privileged information, do you know what you could do with knowledge like that?"

I laughed at him, and it even sort of sounded like a laugh, "I grew up in the Men of Letters' Bunker, of course I know what I could do with that."

"Fergus MacLeod."

We started walking, very unsteadily. The silence pressed against me and I thought of Ethan. My throat constricted and I tried desperately to stave it off. Brashly, it felt so important to know, I asked, "Do you remember all of them?"

He steadied his grip around me, "All of whom?"

"The people you've killed?"

"Of course not, darling, I was the King of Hell, I have killed people I have never even looked at."

"Right…" The silence pressed in again, it burned in my chest, "I wish I knew his name."

"What? Whose name?" he looked a little concerned.

"The Hellion I killed to rescue you. I just wish I knew his name."

He shrugged, "I can tell you the name of the angel he was inhabiting, if that helps."

"That helps."

"Jegudiel."

I repeated it to myself until I was sure I wouldn't forget it.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

I wrote them down. They're in the back. All of them. Everyone I ever stole from the earth. I wrote them down so you could see them. I don't need the list. I burned it into my mind one name at a time. I stole the right to kill them, but there isn't a being powerful enough to give me the right to forget who they were. There were no gray lines between monster or angel or human. I wrote down everyone who didn't want die and everyone who did. Could you add Castiel for me? I didn't have the time.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

I walked with Crowley's arm supporting me. The wind off the river cut into my burnt skin. I wasn't sure where we were. The plants weren't familiar to me, the air smelled strange and foreign. We walked for hours. I was exhausted and broken, but desperate to find others. This would be my real chance. People. I shivered in excitement. I wondered how far back we had gone. Fifty years? A hundred?

Crowley perked up suddenly, "Do you smell that, Bobs?"

I gave an experimental sniff. "Yeah, is that smoke?"

"Yes, smoke, civilization. We've made it!" He looked down at me with a broad and genuine smile. It lit up his face, he looked almost boyish.

It took us upwards of three hours to find it. I moved at a snail's pace and we were upwind. I expected that Crowley would have gotten irritated but he seemed concerned over my well being.

It was in the third hour of heading toward the smoke, probably heading toward the smoke, it was hard to follow just a scent. Crowley glanced at me and said, "Your ribs are only broken because you came for me. If you had just gone alone you would be nearly fine."

"You came back for me."

He laughed shortly, "So this was reciprocity?"

I nudged him with my elbow, "Yeah, just paying my debts. Come on, Crow, wouldn't you have snagged me?"

He stopped moving for a moment and looked at me searchingly, his eyes glanced at my burned and broken skin, my splinted wrist, the smears of blood I'm sure were still across my face. "If you live, I live, kitten."

He readjusted his arm around me and we continued on our way, sniffing out civilization.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

We found them. We came up over a ridge and were greeted with a village. A smattering of huts really, with a fire pit in the center, fire roaring. Evening was settling in by now, and we could see people thronging around the fire, spears and axes clutched in their hands. I could hear them shouting from our distance but I'm not sure what they were saying, it wasn't a language I knew. At that point it meant it wasn't English. Not surprising I suppose.

I drew a little closer to Crowley, "We won't get away if they decide to attack." I whispered.

"You won't make it far without some medical attention, we're going in. I'm the King of Hell, darling, I can protect you from some third world brutes."

We hobbled, well I hobbled and Crowley put up with me, down toward the village. We were seen almost immediately and probably heard, I wasn't particularly sneaky. Three men with spears came out to meet us, a number of others standing warily behind them. The women and children remained by the fire. I looked at all of them, they were beautiful. It really was, seeing living and breathing other people. God, I had dreamed about this moment. I was shaking a little. Nervous.

As the men got closer I could see that they were dressed in sort of a thick knit material, loose skirts tied with wide belts around their waists, no shirts. I had never seen anything like this, despite the clothing shops I had raided. I crouched a little closer to Crowley. "When are we?"

His arm tightened around me. He raised his other hand in greeting. I fought to impulse to curl my face into Crowley's jacket. The man in the middle was entirely focused on us, but the other two switched their focus methodically between us and gazing intently into the dark to their sides. They were bunched together. I watched the smallest of them shudder. They wore both their hair and beards long.

The middle man barked at us in not English. Crowley frowned and shook his head at me briefly. He gestured to them at my obviously worse for wear condition. I tried to look hurt and innocent. They looked uncomfortable. Hurriedly, as though they would risk whatever harm we could do in order to have this done quickly, the older man, in the middle made a gesture with his head at the ones next to him. They circled around us and motioned for us to come with their spears. We led the way, spears at our back. They were obviously nervous, and were moving us faster than was comfortable for me. I could feel my broken ribs jostling.

We maneuvered into the village and were taken immediately to the fire. Everyone, it seemed was gathered there. There were pallets for sleeping pulled up on the ground. This struck me as odd. There were houses. But I wasn't in a position to comment. A few of the women came toward us. Like the men, they wore high waisted skirts, with nothing covering their upper torso. They had long hair as well, tied up in intricate twists. I thought that I had maybe underestimated Ethan when I guessed 100 years. An old woman with a lined face looked at me. She exchanged unintelligible words with the man who led us here then, with a dismissive tone, she gestured to two other women. They tried to pries me away from Crowley, he gave them a look filled with fury.

I glanced up at him, "It's okay. I'll be ok."

Unhappily he released me. I felt like I should be more concerned with how absurdly primitive everything was but half my skin was burnt off, my wrist was broken, my ribs were essentially decimated. They laid me down on a mat and starting coating my skin with a cool paste. I sighed in relief. They were afraid too, I could tell, their hands shook. I wondered if they were afraid of us, or of something else. One of the women handed me a warm bowl of liquid and motioned for me to drink it. Assuming poisoning me would be a lot harder and more expensive than it would have been to stab me with a spear or just not tend my wounds, I drank.

In a few moments my vision started to blur. I felt the ground twisting underneath me. I lifted my hand and called out for Crowley, I thought I was going to be sick again. My brain wasn't working very well. A warm and familiar hand pushed me down and pulled its fingers through my hair. I slept.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

I woke up dizzy. There were people running everywhere. Children were screaming, women were screaming. Men were arming themselves. I sat up and looked around for Crowley. He wasn't in my field of vision. I looked around, trying to see what was making them yell. What did regular people yell about? Was it an invasion? A cold wind ruffled me despite my proximity to the fire. A ghost? I wasn't sure if I was assuming that because of my closeness to the supernatural, or even if that's what ghosts felt like. I had only read about them.

There was a girl with me, about my age, heavily pregnant. That drew my attention from the danger; I had never seen a pregnant person. She was beautiful. I thought about Crowley and his wife and I wondered if she loved her baby's father. I hoped so.

She was trying to get me up, I pushed myself to my feet and looked where she was pointing. There were people approaching, a hoard of them. A heterogeneous mix of men, women, and children. Some were old and bent, some young. Toddlers, infants. One by one, scattered amongst the crowd of them at no particular interval they flickered. I felt my body go cold. They were ghosts. An army of ghosts. They were seizing people as they came across them. Ripping them apart.

I tore off, well I creaked off very quickly. I vaguely remembered the woman bringing me the sleeping warm drink from one of the nearer houses.

The girl was trying to pull me the other way, away from the ghosts. I pushed her off and went into the house, hut really. I yelped in excitement. There were jars lining the walls, little and big, I started opening them hurriedly, peering inside. Useless. Useless. Useless. I tore through more of them. Useless. Everything was useless. Hopefully I pulled the seal off of a large urn sitting on the ground and in utter glee I shouted at the ceiling. White grains filled the urn. Salt. To make sure, perhaps unwisely, I took a big and poured it into my mouth. SALT! I was powering my actions through instinct. I had spent my entire life preparing for what to do against ghosts.

I hefted the urn and cried out as pain split my torso. Giving up, I poured out the contents of one of the other jars. The girl was shouting at me by now. I filled the little cup with salt and dashed out of the hut. I ran straight at the ghosts. It wasn't easy, everyone else was going the other way. I pushed passed Crowley who grabbed my wrist.

"What the hell are you doing, Bobs!" He shouted, his voice gravely.

I grinned at him, the salt discovery triumph still spiriting me, "Salt!" I yelled jubilantly. He released my wrist. "Where?"

I pointed and continued toward the ghosts. I could barely feel my wounds, adrenaline was coursing through me and I laughed into the dark skies. How could this have scared me? If they killed me, I was only dead. How was that a threat to me?

A young man, dark beard still short, broad and rippling torso, slammed me in the chest with a spear haft, pushing me backward. I laughed again and spun under him. I felt my ribs protest, but they were far away. I spun up right in front of a leading ghost and tossed the salt in his face. He spluttered out.

The man grabbed my shoulder and forced my hand to his face, he looked at the salt I still had and went tearing off. I hoped to get more.

I was almost dancing. Tossing salt at ghosts, dodging their attacks. I was immersed in the thrill of it. Men started to join me, hands filled with salt, throwing it at the ghosts. We were driving them back. I wasn't so concerned about the long term. I knew full well that salt wouldn't destroy them, but hell it was fun. I ducked under an attack and rolled to my feet, dousing it in salt. I rolled again, to the side and came up next to a body of a man who had not been so agile. A spear lay next to him.

Struck by inspiration I seized the spear and, with no water in sight, coated the spear head in the blood pooling beneath him. I took the last of my salt and smeared in across the blade.

Really armed now, I assaulted the ghosts with abandon, swinging happily at them, shouting in ecstasy. I tore through their ranks. Laughing and striking. The ghosts couldn't touch me. I felt alive. I spun and struck and laughed, crying out at the stars in fervent jubilation.

Three boys, young, no more than fifteen were trapped against a wall, ghosts penning them in. I released a war cry and vaulted the ghosts and landed before them, swinging through them cleanly. They flickered out. I turned to the boys and gave them a toothy grin. They stared at me in amazement. I twirled the spear in my hand.

"BOBBY!" Crowley yelled across the melee. "We have a salt line, get back."

Disappointed I loped back toward the line. The others being called home by their own language. They had indeed made a salt circle surrounding the fire pit. I wondered what on earth they needed this damn much salt for. Which I remember wondering before I wondered why there was an army of ghosts.

I got back to Crowley, I was grinning from ear to ear, my bloody spear in one hand, urn of salt tethered to my belt. He shook his head at me, but was smirking.

"Whatcha got there, Bobs?"

I was a little breathless, but I smiled at him broadly, "Salt Spear."

He laughed, "Salt spear. So you were running around, ribs torn apart, missing half your skin, _laughing like a psychopath_, fighting ghosts and you just thought, 'There is a better way to weaponize this.'"

I looked at him a little blankly, "I mean…yeah."

He laughed, "You would look good with black eyes, darling."

My adrenaline was running its course and my pain was redoubling. I waivered on my feet. Crowley put a steadying hand on my shoulder. "This, darling," he said with condescension, "Is why you shouldn't go around laughing at ghosts and improvising weaponry when you're injured."

I laughed a bit and leaned on my spear.

**XXXXX**

We passed the night on edge. The ghosts circled but they couldn't get through Crowley's circle. He spent the night drawing sigils in the dirt. The light rose in the morning and as it gained intensity, the ghosts disappeared, fading into nothing.

As the last ghost faded, a cheer rose up. I didn't need their language to interpret it, and I sorely wished I could have been in on the hugging and chest beating that the other warriors were swept up in. But I had been out of adrenaline for hours and was entirely unable to rise.

I was sitting in a shady spot, leaning against a wall, a large older man, hair turning gray, although he was still well built, approached me. I grimaced up at him. It seemed like the situation where I should get up, but I really could not. He hit his chest with his fist clutching his spear and nodded at me. Sans spear, I mimicked the gesture. Hitting my chest fiercely despite the pain. Then I laughed. His face split into a grin and he pulled me to my feet.

**AN: Thanks for reading everybody! It's getting to the fun part! **


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18: Building and Empire**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

I was healing well. Magnificently well. On my feet and exploring well, despite Crowley trying to make his pleas for me to rest sound like threats. How was I supposed to sleep all day when for the first time in my life there were _people_. Granted, I couldn't talk to them, but _people_. And no constant threat of my soul's utter destruction. Just ghost army death. I was, to be frank, giddy.

I was, at the moment, learning how to throw a spear. I was pretty good at twirling and stabbing, things I could practice in the confines of the bunker, but throwing was never something I had worked on. A man about my age was teaching me. He was called Ashte, but that's all I had deciphered yet. I considered it the height of triumph that I had gotten him to call me Bobby.

He was currently standing behind me as I was turned to the side. His hand was gripping my back wrist, his other on my forward wrist, holding them in the correct position. His firm chest was pressed right up against my back. I looked down his muscular forearm that was flush with mine. I hadn't really had any idea that forearms could look like that.

I gripped a spear and he gripped my wrist and took a step forward, guiding my body into the correct motions. His breath was hot in my ear. He showed me the step a few more times then released me and took a step back. My back felt cold when he did.

I hefted another spear and tried it, full speed. The spear flew far and straight, sticking hard into the ground. I lifted my arms and shouted happily. Ashte banged his fist on his chest and yelled in his deep, resonant voice. Differences in voices felt magical to me. His was deep, like Crowley's, but not so gravely. It was clear and young and strong. I beamed at him.

Over his shoulder I saw Crowley leaning against a hut, watching us. He looked downright unhappy. I loped over to him, "Why are you so dour?" I asked, tossing him a grin.

"I am not dour, Winchester." He sneered.

I pulled a face at him, "What the Hell, Crow?"

He scoffed with exasperation, "We're so far back in time I'm not even sure when we are, there are hordes of angry ghosts and you're _flirting with a boy._"

I frowned, "I wasn't flirting with him…he was just teaching me to throw a spear."

Ashte was looking over at us curiously, Crowley gave him a dismissive hand gesture, he shrugged and walked off. Crowley turned back to me. "Stand with you feet apart and throw the spear." He raised his eyebrows, "That suffices doesn't it?" he shifted behind me and gripped me roughly by the waist, growling into my ear. "Or does it work better if he's got you pressed against him?"

I spun around, faster than he was and shoved him away from me, "We don't know each other's language, you massive dick. And so what if he was flirting with me, we're here to stay, yeah? So why can't I flirt with a muscular guy who wants to teach me to throw a spear?!"

Crowley snarled but I laughed. "Come on, Crow, drop it. It's not a thing, okay."

"I suppose you haven't been around many men before, you must be all a dither."

I shoved his shoulder, "Shut your mouth, Kinglet, more importantly, why are there ghost armies?"

"I have actually been giving that a bit of thought, since I haven't been running around half healed being felt up by moderately good looking Bronze Age men."

"Only because none of them have offered."

He swatted my nose, "That, love, is neither here nor there."

I laughed, "Let's walk while you monologue, out of town."

He put out his hands in an acquiescent sort of way, "Lead on, Winchester."

I did, heading out toward the river, glancing over my shoulder and adding, "And stop calling me Winchester."

As we walked he continued on his diatribe, "The ghost armies, I've been talking the best I can to some of the locals, and _there have always been ghost armies. _Often, if they know they're going to die, they run off into nowhere in hopes of not killing their own family." He had his eyebrow raised like this was all supposed to really mean something to me.

"Did you think of why though?"

He grumbled, "You are destroying my artistry."

"You're giving me a headache."

He sighed in a beset upon sort of way. "The ghosts don't have anywhere to go, love."

I stopped and faced him, "What?"

"I spoke to a number of reapers."

"You just spoke to reapers."

"For the sake of the fire of hell, I'm the King of the Damned, that is the sort of thing that I do."

"Isn't there another King of the Damned though?" I asked, "I mean a king of the current damned?"

He smirked at me, "No. That, love, is what I'm trying to tell you. The ghosts aren't going anywhere because no one has made a place for them to go. No one has quite figured out the value of souls yet. So, they're just roaming around, homeless."

I stopped. "Crowley, we have to do something."

"Well, yes, darling, obviously. Or we'll be eaten by ghosts."

"No, I mean, everyone is doomed. Everyone. We have to help the dead people."

He made an exasperated face, "What do you exactly propose?"

"You first, Crow, you obviously have a plan in mind."

"My plan to was hunt down their corpses and salt and burn them until –"

I cut him off, "Let's build Hell."

He stared at me.

I stared back.

"I beg your pardon."

"I mean…you always bitch that Hell was idiotic right? Demons just killing people, nothing helpful. So let's make Hell. But we can make it however we want. Think about it, Crow," I was getting excited, "Clearly, if heaven is even a thing yet, they don't have any idea of how much they're wasting, so we can just take anybody who dies. We can make an army of heroes, Crowley. Hell will never fall to the Hellions, it will never fall to anybody." I was breathless and leaning toward Crowley.

He put up his hand. "You want to…build and command Hell with me?"

"Well…yeah."

He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at me, a smirk rising across his face, he stepped closer to me and put his hands on my upper arms, "I tell you that there is no place for the ghosts to go and you respond by asking me if I am interested in stealing souls from the ignorance of heaven, making an army, and creating Hell in my image." He was breathing rather hard and his eyes were boring straight into mine.

I caught his fire, leaning forward, a toothy, ravenous smile carving across my face, "Yeah, Crow, I do."

He was towering over me a bit now, hands trailing up and down my arms like he couldn't quite believe what was right in front of him, "You know, Kitten, when we first met I thought you would be nice to keep around, after all, you could kill Hellions. But I sort of assumed you had survived because of a fluke. Why would I give up the last woman on earth, but, _darling_," he said 'darling' with a rapturous sort of groan, "You survived because you're _magnificent._" When he said magnificent he was all predatory teeth, looming above me.

I bared my teeth at him, gripping his hips, firm and commanding where his touch was teasing and delicate, and I hissed in a low breath, "Don't you forget it."

That shirtless boy had given me shivers but Crowley sent my blood pounding and powerful through my veins. Made my stomach stiffen. Made me light headed. We remained poised there, teeth bared at each other for a prolonged moment. He blinked and took a half step away from me, looking uncertain.

I growled and seized him by the front of his shirt, pulling him toward me. Entirely unproficient in what I was doing, but drunk on how it felt, I pushed my lips against his. He responded immediately. He gripped me, a hand fiercely in my hair, the other possessively on my hip. He pushed me roughly against the river bank's lone tree. There was a drumming coursing through my body that I was unfamiliar with, but hell if I wasn't excited to become familiar with it.

I was unsure of what I was supposed to be doing, so I gave up to instinct and raked my nails down his sides, under is shirt. He let out an inhuman snarl what sent fire lashing throughout my body.

We were going to rule hell.

**AN: Finally the romance has returned! But um….I cut it off rather suddenly. Because…well, for one thing I rated the story teen and for another she is writing the journal in full understanding that her father is going to read it so….BUT. I'm feeling racy, and if anyone would LIKE the full version of this. Give me a holla. **


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19: An Empire in My Image**

Dean punched Crowley in the jaw. Having just been poised in a crouch, he tipped over and sprawled across the floor.

"What the fuck did you do with my daughter!?"

Crowley pushed himself half upright, "_That's _what you stop to get upset about?"

"Yeah, you're damn right. I die and you think you can get all handsy on my kid?"

Crowley snorted, "Me? Get handsy? If you could read you would know she was the one who kissed me! Which I would like to remind you _hasn't even happened yet_. Besides," he stood and straightened his tie, and brushed dust from his lapel, "we're adorable together."

Dean stood imposingly and raised his fist again. Sam put out a hand, "Dean. I don't know if that's the thing to get upset about. I mean…we're both dead. Cas is some psychotic murdering monster who ate everybody in the whole world. I think we have bigger concerns that some girl who says she's your daughter shacking up with Crowley."

Dean looked indignant, "Sammy, you and me were always gonna go down bloody, and at Cas getting roped into some angel douchebag mojo ain't exactly new. But _Crowley_?"

"Well," said Crowley, putting on a hurt voice, still holding the journal, tucked it inside his jacket, "I intend to continue reading, do you boys care to join me someplace more comfortable?"

They glanced at each other, obviously they were going to continue reading, and Crowley had a point about finding someplace not filled with corpses.

Sam shrugged and looked down at the body, "Are we just going to leave her here?"

"No." said Dean and Crowley at the same time. Dean glowered at Crowley, "No, Sammy," he continued, "We aren't going to leave her."

"Dean, come on, we don't even know if she's really yours. I mean, she ate a heart and travelled through time? She survived _alone _for almost twenty years?"

Dean bent down and lifted her body tenderly, "Shut up, Sammy." He said under his breath. "Let's go, Crowley, we're finishing that journal."

Crowley shrugged and snapped his fingers.

**XXXXX**

A moment later they were in his office, Crowley sitting behind his desk, two overstuffed armchairs facing it. He snapped his fingers again and a long low table appeared against the wall. Dean laid the body down gingerly. Crowley took the journal out of his jacket. His hands shook slightly, he was intolerably breathless to start reading again. The scene on the river bank had ignited again the injustice of his position. This girl, Bobby, had been his, had loved him he suspected. And he had almost had her, but she was irrevocably lifeless, soulless.

He looked up at the Winchesters. Sam looked uncomfortable and unhappy, but Dean looked miserable, scowling down at his hands.

Crowley lifted the journal, "I'll read it aloud, shall I?"

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

I slept that night with my head on Crowley's chest, safe in our well salted hut, his heartbeat thudding solidly in my ear. I was glad what we had done on the river bank hadn't seemed to have changed anything. I closed my eyes. His heartbeat sounded the same, felt the same against my cheek, as it had in the twenty first millennium. It was comforting. How far could I travel if I always like I was in the same place when I went to sleep. His arm was tighter around me than it had been before.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

We began work on Hell right away, the next morning. And I think, if a legion of angels had charged us and commanded us to sit still and not do that under penalty of death, Crowley would have done it anyway.

I was glad I had him to work with. As I had less than no idea how to start. We filled our bags with salt and provisions and headed out. He said we needed a deep cave. I had asked after that from my friend, Ashte. I sort of drew a picture in the sand and pointed in a direction. He pointed at himself also and looked at me questioningly. In a way, I had wanted to bring him with me. It would have been nice to have someone I knew could have my back in a real fight. I just shook my head, this wasn't a trip to be taking guests on.

So Crowley and I headed that direction, me armed well with a spear in my hand and another strapped across my back. There were other things to fear, of course, than ghosts.

The cave, when we reached it, had a thin opening, a crack running straight across the ground. Crowley stopped and considered it, peering through it with narrowed eyes. He paced around it, glaring and thinking. I sighed with impatience.

I immediately dropped through it, catching myself on the lip and, hanging down, looked up at him, "Come on, are you the King of Hell or the King of I'm-not-so-sure-about-this."

He scowled at me, "I only survived for four hundred years by not taking risks like this."

I scoffed, "You only survived the last three years because I leapt on a Hellion I didn't know how to kill on the off chance something would work out."

I laughed at his irritated frown and, glancing down to see how far the drop was, released my handhold and fell. I rolled when I hit the ground and came up a little jarred but undamaged. I looked around me. The cave was a curving, winding thing. The drop had been about twenty feet and had widened from its thin entrance to be about five feet across. It bent down, like a passageway into the earth. I looked up.

"Crowley, come on."

He had shimmied his way through the entrance and was trying desperately to find a way to climb down, rather than drop. I put my hand on my hip and sighed. "It's not that far, just let go and roll when you hit the ground so you don't break your ankles."

He snarled over his shoulder at me, "I can get down a ravine without the help of a foolhardy child."

I shrugged, "Ok, then I won't help you."

All in all, it took him twenty minutes of angling and shimmying and grasping for handholds before he just gave up and dropped, rolling as I had told him to. He hadn't managed to spring up to his feet as I had and came to a halt, mostly unhurt, sitting disheveled on the ground.

I turned my head and regarded him, "You good?"

He gave me his dirtiest sneer and stood up. "I'm fine."

I laughed, "Ok, lead on, where do we start?"

Still looking ruffled, he pushed passed me and continued down through the cave, I followed him, holding back laughter. He continued down a short ways until we came to a passage with a long flat wall. By this time, it had become dark enough that I had lit a torch.

He gazed for a long time at the wall then nodded shortly.

"I will need to draw the sigils here. It's going to take awhile. I'll need some human blood."

I let the silence sit for awhile then asked, "You want my old underpants?"

He rolled his eyes, and said smartly, "it wouldn't be enough."

"Oh, it'd be enough."

"For Hell's sake, just roll up your sleeve and open a vein."

"Sure, but if I ever announce that I need demon blood you're going to have to be just as compliant."

"Whatever."

I stopped, a knife poised over my arm, "I'm sorry, is that the way you make deals?"

"You want this to be a formal deal?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah, I do."

He snarled and shoved me against the wall, mouth pressing aggressively against mine. I shoved him off by the shoulder and laughed, "You're just mad I saw you fall on your ass."

He stared irately at me.

I tousled his hair, "Cheer up, Crow, we are literally building you an empire right now. And you're snotting around because you fell over?"

He rolled his eyes and turned back to the wall, but looked a little less toothy.

I resumed cutting open my flesh. He handed me a jar and caught my blood in it, filling it to the rim before handing it back to him and pressing a cloth over my wound.

He dipped his fingers in the blood and starting drawing sigils and symbols across the wall. It was all a little boring to me. Watching him paint, every once in awhile needing more of my blood. It was a little worse every time, filling that jar. It all made me a little dizzy.

The sixth time he absently handed me the jar, I filled it with blood and nearly dropped it. My hands were shaking and I was light headed. The cold that had been creeping up on me swept up. He took the jar and I sat down, trying to clamp my already saturated cloth against my wound. A lot of blood had leaked out from the cloth.

He started painting again, filling the wall with his symbols. I closed my eyes.

He barked and I wrenched them open again, "One more, Bobby."

"Huh?" I said from the ground. The cave was spinning a little. I looked up at him disoriented. My heart was beating so fast.

"Bobby I need – oh…Bobby."

He crouched down next to me and pushed my now sweaty hair off my forehead, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah.." I said trying to push my way to my feet, "Yeah, give me the jar."

He handed it to me, which sort of irritated me, since I felt like it should have been more of a fight, but I pulled off the excuse for a bandage and let the jar fill one more time. He took it carefully and set it behind him, then turned back to me and pulled something out of his bag. My vision wasn't exactly one hundred percent, but I thought it was a tie. He wrapped it around the crux of my elbow and pulled it painfully tight. Then he took fresh cloth and bound the wound.

He stood and, picking up the jar, continued his work. I lay there, shaking and cold while he did.

"I'm finished." He said finally, stepping back to look at his work.

He didn't need to say it. I already knew. The sigils were glowing dark. There was a rushing in my ears and electricity lit through my nerves. I arched up and yelled. My bleating heart pumped harder, rocketing my blood through my veins. My vision cleared and took on a sharpness I had never known. Every line and every curve in front of my was clear and bright. I could feel energy rippling through me. I was standing, without realizing I had stood up.

Crowley was staring at me, looking awed and frightened.

Dark smoke curled from the sigils and wrapped itself around my chest. I felt tendrils leak down my arms and my skin knit itself back together. The smoke pushed its way through my flesh and I hummed with power.

I lifted my hands and pressed them solidly against the wall. Cracks formed under them and spiked up the wall and crackled around my fingers. The cracks opened and spread, curling and transforming.

They wrapped inwards around themselves. I twisted my hands and dug my fingers into the vertical crevice. I pulled hard, it bent beneath me, growing and animating. I pushed it until it gaped, a hole as wide as my armspan, then it stopped and the power did not so much fade and lie down.

I looked at Crowley. His eyes were wide and he had backed up until he was against the wall. I looked through the gaping hole and grinned, "You coming or what?"

Without waiting for his response, I stepped through the doorway into nothing.

This time, Crowley followed after me immediately. He stood slightly behind me. I felt the same feelings I had when we had travelled in time. The pressing nothingness. But my skin didn't burn or peel. I was resilient.

Inside my flesh I crackled.

"Make it a fortress, darling." Crowley murmured in my ear.

I thought of the Hellions, swooping in and storming it. I pulled my hands upward and, like wrenching something from the ground, rocketed them above my head. Great thick stones burst from the ground that was creeping out under our feet and towered into the sky. Tall, asymmetrical and imposing.

Crowley whispered darkly in my ear, "How about a palace, love?"

I grinned and twisted my hand and in the distance elegant walls carved their way upwards, curling in on themselves to form twisting corridors and secret rooms. Black earth was spreading in a cataclysm around me. Hell being born under my feet.

He whispered something else, but a thought had taken over my mind. I looked out over the dark wastelands I had made, dark rocks and spindling towers and thought of the innocent dead driving themselves mad on Earth. I thought of the leagues of dead children and dead lovers and I thought of Ethan. I had been ready to condemn them to this dark pit.

I let my arms fall briefly and reimagined it. It did not have to be the Hell of nightmares. "A haven." I said softly. I, with utmost care, turned my palms upward and let them glide above my head. The vast, lifeless ground sprouted, living grass erupted around us, flecked with golden flowers. Trees grew up, heavy with fruit.

The walls grew taller around it, more menacing. Thick dark water churned at the base of the walls, a deathly moat curving its protection around my realms. Sweet, clear ponds filled before us.

Having guided its growth, I bent down and let energy flow unrestrained into it. It spread out like a child, happily out of my control. I felt partially drained of the power I had just taken, it was outside of me, multiplying and modifying. I grinned proudly.

"How's that, Crow?"

"Maybe not how I would have done it."

I laughed, "You didn't do it."

"This isn't how it's supposed to look."

I glanced back at him, "We decide how it's supposed to be."

"You're magnificent."

I slung my arm around him and let my tired head fall on his shoulder.

He looked out over the green fields and let his eyes stop at the palace looming in the distance, he looked down at me, "Bobby, will you be my Queen of Hell?" he said it with the utmost sincerity, his voice gentle and low.

I took a step back, "Why do you get to ask that?"

He stopped and furrowed his brow, "What?"

"I just made this place, this is _my_ place. Why do you get to ask if I want to rule it with you?"

"I'm the King of Hell."

I grinned darkly at him, "You _were_ the King of Hell, this isn't your kingdom."

He looked angry and unsure. I smirked and shoved his shoulder with mine, "So, will you be my King of Hell?"

He looked at me with this dark sort of crazed look on his face.

I laughed. I laughed so hard my stomach started hurting. The corner of Crowley's mouth turned up and then he started laughing too. We shook with laughter. I fell over, unable to keep myself upright. Tears were leaking down his cheeks.

I reigned myself in and leapt up. Energy was still buzzing through me. "Let's let'em in yeah?" I asked.

I didn't wait for his reply, I wasn't going to kick of this equal party leadership by waiting for permission. I ran off, my feet light on the ground, the sweet air whipping passed me. I darted through the doorway, which, having been shut tight, opened wide as I approached. I ran as though I had wings on my feet. Soaring up the passage. I leapt high at the rough wall of the crevice and climbed, each toe hold finding me.

I launched myself into the darkness above me, it was night and I was glad. I hooted happily into the night. I fled through the night, light and aware, into the village.

The ghosts beset them, banging against doors, howling at salt lines. They turned in unison when I entered, stopping their howling and looking upon me. I raised my hands.

I tensed my shoulders and pushed my hands toward the dark sky. Behind me a door rose, tall and imposing. It smashed open, wind blowing my hair forward.

I didn't need to say a word. The ghosts rushed me, pouring passed and into my Hell. As each entered I felt a spark of power rush into me, thundering in my blood.

The door was still open but the ghost multitude had gone through, I turned to follow them home. A call made me turn back.

Ashte stood, eyes wide and afraid, holding his spear weakly. He asked something, I knew enough of his tongue by then, it was something like, "What are you?"

I opened my mouth to announce my name, scream 'Bobby Winchester' at the ancient world. But the words died in my throat. How could I call myself a Winchester? How could I allow what I was to be the world's first taste of what it meant to be a Winchester? I couldn't just say 'Bobby.' I suddenly desperately wanted my dad to be here. To look at me proudly and introduce me himself. 'This is my kid,' he'd say with a little grin, 'Bobby. Bobby Winchester.'

But he wasn't here. And if he were, he would probably put a knife in my chest before he would do that. So I looked at Ashte and, broadening my shoulders, lifting my chin, I said the only name which was fitting.

"Persephone."

**AN: There is it you lovelies who waited so patiently! Toss me a review and tell me what you think!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20: Honeymooning**

Crowley was abruptly interrupted from his reading by Dean flipping the coffee table over. A stunned silence resounded through the room after the small knick knacks which had been atop it had finished clattering and smashing across the floor. Crowley sat in his cushioned leather chair, eye brow raised, Sam gaped unnerved at his brother and Dean stood, shoulders hunched, fists clenched, breath coming hard.

Sam stood up and put a hand on his brother's shoulder, "Dean, it's alright, calm down."

He wrenched away from his brother, "I wouldn't've ganked her."

Sam used his softest voice, "Yeah, Dean, I know that. She was just…grieving."

Crowley, his eyes merciless, laughed cruelly, "You might have. You didn't have any problem getting rid of that Amazon girl of yours. I wonder if that's one of the stories you told her as a wee girl." He continued in a voice that mocked Dean's deeper one, "Once upon a time, Daddy had another little girl much like you, but she wasn't quite what I wanted so I put a bullet in her skull."

The injustice Crowley was feeling at having this girl snatched away from him was coming out in meanness.

Dean launched himself across Crowley's desk. Crowley, for his part, had underestimated just how athletic the butchest Winchester was. From a standstill the man cleared the large desk and landed nearly atop Crowley, bearing him down, demon knife pressing into his ribs. Crowley, having access to a good deal more power than the Winchester whelp, threw him off, sending him crashing against a wall. He stalked toward Dean who writhed against the wall.

"If you hadn't been such an intolerably thick skulled _moron_ about your hunt she would be alive!" He pushed harder against Dean's paltry human chest, moments from crushing it.

Sam rushed him, "Crowley! You need us, remember. This isn't something to kill Dean over. Let him down, we'll finish reading the journal and figure it out from there."

Tentatively, Crowley let Dean down, backing up toward his desk. Dean didn't fight back. He dropped listlessly to the ground and turned his back on the pair of them, walking dejectedly to the body and looking down at it. He pushed her hair back from her face, it was the same color as his and now Crowley knew why she had looked familiar. It was his jaw that jutted too much on her feminine face. She looked like him. Not for the first time, Crowley wondered who her mother had been.

It was Sam this time who took up the journal, Crowley being too busy looking between Dean and Bobby. Sam sat back in his chair and picked up where Crowley had left off.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

My return to Hell was triumphal. I stepped through the gate and was met by the ghosts, standing in a crowd before me. They had lost their craze, they looked at me with clear eyes, hopeful eyes, I thought that maybe they hadn't been crazed at all, maybe they had just been scared. I stood tall at the threshold and surveyed them. I took a single step forward and they began to part a path for me. I took my first step onto the lush grass that grew beyond the wall and Hell itself greeted me, golden flowers blooming beneath my feet. I walked through the multitude, as I came level with them the nearest fell to their knees, those behind them following their example. My breath caught in my throat but, unmoved, I held my head high.

I had gone no more than thirty feet when a young woman stepped out of the line, in her hands she held a coronet woven from the golden flowers.

"My lady." And I found I could understand her, despite the language barrier, "You saved us from our suffering." I bent my head slightly and she tenderly placed the crown atop it. She moved to step back into line but, haltingly, she asked, as thought she could not help herself, with eyes so wide they shook, "Are you – my lady are you a goddess?"

I almost said no. But I thought of Crowley and thought of what he would say in my position. I contained my grin, not thinking that did not fit the situation, looked the woman straight and unflinchingly in the eye and said, "Yes."

I raised my eyes to the palace and began the long walk to its door. Each step on my golden flowered path shook as the bowing crowd shouted in ear shattering unity, "_PER-SE-PHO-NE!" _again and again and again.

I reached the palace and walked boldly up the stairs. At their top, right before the doors, I turned to the crowd. I took the spear off of my back and looked out over them. Silence fell. In a swift motion I jutted the spear toward the sky. They screamed together, jubilant and united. Then I turned and strode into the hall.

Crowley was waiting for me, arms crossed, small scowl on his face. "You seem…popular."

I grinned at him and laughed, "I mean, I just saved them from eternal torment."

He remained looking less than happy. I lost it, laughing brazenly.

"Are you jealous, Crow? Is that what's happening? Did you want them to make you a flower crown?"

"No, but it would have been nice if they had screamed my name."

I thrust out my spear lazily, hooking it in his shirt and wrenching him forward. He stumbled ungainly into me. "Would it help if _I _screamed you name?"

He righted himself, "Yes, that would help."

I smirked at him and slugged his arm, "Come on, smile. This is the stuff of legend!"

"What was that they were calling you?"

"Oh," I turned away and smirked, walking up the hall, my spear dragging nonchalantly behind me. I looked halfway over my shoulder and gave him a shrug, "Persephone."

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

It was odd for me, to change so quickly from being around only Crowley, from all other living things being devastatingly dead, to ruling so many. And the ranks just continued to grow. Every dead soul came to us. When they did not, we sent someone to fetch them. But none of the ghosts ever _fought _us. Sometime they got lost, couldn't find their way to our door, but when given someone to lead the way they came to us happily.

And it was paradise in my fields. Warriors sparred, people danced, children played in the streams. There was a perpetual song lifting from some far flung corner drifting through our open windows. We had staffed our palace with the dead who were not only willing but excited to serve their Queen and King.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

I awoke, air fresh in my lungs, head resting on Crowley's chest, "Goodmorning, darling," he murmured at me softly, petting my hair softly. I had begun letting it grow long again. "How did you sleep?"

I snuggled against him contentedly, he bent down and kissed me tenderly. He had started doing that more. Kissing me at unimportant moments. I wasn't sure how I felt about it. Using him to hold be back when I felt like if I didn't I would rip the world apart and sweet careless moments seemed like different agreements. We were the King and the Queen of Hell. I wasn't sure if that made him my King, or if it made me his Queen for that matter. I wasn't sure what it would mean if it did. But then, it was nice to have someone call me magnificent.

"G'morn, Crow," I said groggily. I sat up and stretched, yawning widely. I rose and wrapped myself in a silken robe of periwinkle blue.

Without the need to be called in, my handmaiden, Anydka, entered, bowing briefly to us, "My lady, my lord."

I smiled, "Good morning, Anydka."

"Will my lady be wanting a bath this morning?"

"Yeah, that'd be lovely." I said, beaming.

She curtseyed, "And, my Lord Hades."

Upon my insistence he had abandoned 'Crowley,' only I called him that anymore, and only in privacy. It hadn't taken much convincing, just a few snide remarks that if this all got written down in some history book, when a few thousand years had passed and some scruffy newly spawned demon took on his new name, it would be _so_ cliché. And he liked being a god. He smiled at her, "yes?"

"You have a visitor in the throne room."

He furrowed his brow, "Who?"

"He calls himself Zeus, the King of the Skies, my Lord."

Crowley raised his eyebrow at me, "The Queen and I will meet him together."

"Shall I delay your bath, my lady Persephone?"

"No," Crowley answered for me, "Tell Zeus he can wait."

Crowley and I enjoyed getting ready for this encounter. This was the sort of together that we were good at. The sort of together that was a partnership of activity, not the swishy and muddled waters of the difference between friendship and something else. It was end of the world dress up all over again. We wanted to look particularly regal for this.

I dressed him, because I insisted on dressing him. I chose for him a long dark robe embroidered at the border with gold, rubies and obsidian laid carefully into the collar. I belted him in an equally ostentatious belt, black leather, gold studded and buckled with a golden snake with ruby eyes. He wore the crown he had had made for an occasion such as this. We didn't wear crowns often, he said it detrimented their effect, they were also wildly uncomfortable, which was my primary problem with them. His was dark metal, that came up in brief spikes above his head in twisted metal. Even to me, who knew his lackluster ability with a spear, he looked nearly ferocious.

As I had dictated his wardrobe, he equally dictated mine. I was wrapped in a sleeveless draping ivory gown, cinched with a thin belt, the buckle of which was a gilded golden flower, made to match my Hellblooms, as I had named them.

I attached spindly golden cuffs and set my crown carefully over the intricate braids and curls Anydka had arranged. My crown was as light as his was heavy. A gold almost white with thin curving spikes that came up like vines. With my hair done so, it looked almost like a ringlet of golden antlers. I finished the ensemble by strapping a knife to my thigh. I could grow death for from the very stitches of Hell, but I felt more secure with the metal cold against my skin.

I inspected our reflection, "I would have preferred armor." I said a little cuttingly.

He smiled at me, "But in this, my darling, you look like a lovely young flower."

"I can see that, Crow, I want to look formidable. Zeus is gonna think I'm some –"

Crowley cut me off, "Delicate, beautiful jewel for my bed."

I turned my nose up at him and scowled, "Fuck you."

He rolled his eyes, "I hope he does think that."

"Was 'fuck you' not clear enough?"

He took my chin roughly and forced me to look at him, his eyes dark and fierce, "I hope he thinks you're a helpless little maiden who will cry and scream at a the sight of blood, and I hope he thinks the only time you could ever hold a spear would be to cook my dinner, because if there is one thing a Winchester can do well, it's kill gods who underestimate them."

I pulled my chin from his grasp and turned to the door, "Don't forget to call me Persephone."

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

When we arrived at the throne room, Crowley flicked his wrist and the double doors slammed open, we walked in step up the long pale carpeting. A tall and imposing figure stood in before the throne, thick and tangled beard, dark brooding eyes, wide muscled chest. He gazed at me ravenously. He met us head on as we approached. Towering above both of us, blocking my path. I stopped a few feet from him and gazed up into his storming eyes.

I stood perfectly still, shoulders square, locking eyes with him. The seconds stretched on as we opposed each other. I understood that it would play better to Crowley's idea of how he wanted me to come off to demurely step aside and began to think that I should just play the part.

Hell, it seemed, had a different idea. Without warning the ground beneath him hitched and he stumbled ungainly to the side. Victoriously, and trying not to allow my surprise to play on my face, I stepped passed him and swept to my throne. I turned with a flourish and sat. The guard at the door lifted his helmet to give me a triumphant and approving grin. I tried not to snicker.

I glanced at Crowley who sighed in an 'If you must' sort of way, then I looked back down at Zeus, who had his arms crossed at was looking up at Crowley, regarding him with interest.

"This is a nice little hole you have carved for yourself…Hades, was it?"

Crowley remained silent, looking down his nose at Zeus, a sneer slight enough it could be generously taken as a frown creasing his face. I kept mine neutral, not that Zeus spared me a look.

Zeus waited a few moments to continue, presumably to see if Crowley would say something, when he did not Zeus forged ahead. He had a broad, engaging way of speaking, like he just wanted what was best. "My Queen, Hera, and I, we are building quite the kingdom ourselves."

"On top of a mountain yes, I've been made aware." Crowley said with a bored drawl.

"Oh ho ho!" he laughed heartily, "Who's letting you in on my secrets."

Crowley let a smile spread across his face, "Oh, I have my sources." His sources being basic mythological knowledge from the future.

"Well, it is quite the place, Olympus, we're calling it. Not quite like what you have down here, you understand, this, _this, _is a palace."

Crowley gave a small nod.

Zeus laughed long and loud. He put his hands on his hips and turned this way and that, looking at every crack of the throne room. He gave a hearty smile to Crowley and winked at me, "Truly, the most magnificent palace."

His smile fell away, "You understand you won't be able to keep it."

My grip on the arms of my throne stiffened but I held my tongue.

Crowley had lifted his chin in defiance, "No, Zeus, I'm not sure I do entirely understand."

"Let me be clearer. My boys and I are going to rip this pretty little gem out of your hands. Your people will be slaves, your life will be forfeit, and your queen will be sold to the highest bidder."

I really thought Crow would rage at this, call in the guard, kill him where he stood. But he sat slouched in his thrown, chin leaning on his hand.

"You're welcome to try."

Zeus looked taken aback. "You've been warned." He turned, eyes storming and dark and crashed out of the room.

"Escort him out of Hell." Crowley barked at the guard who turned and followed the Sky King.

Crowley turned in his seat to regard me, his eyes crept over my face, "Don't be afraid."

I threw my head back and laughed, my whole body shaking, it reverberated from the ceilings and echoed over us.

"Something funny, Bobs?"

I gave him a hungry grin, "Hell is going to need a proper army."

He gave me a mockingly appalled look, "And you just assume you get to lead it?"

I shrugged, "You can negotiate the terms of their surrender."

He gave me a warm smile and tipped his crown to me amicably. "I shall have the finest armor forged for you."

I tossed him a grin, "I'll buy you a pen or something."

**AN: Sorry about the wait, lovelies, I was caught up in adult human things. Toss me a review (especially about how much time they are spending running around in the ancient world, is that interesting to you pups?)**


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21: Call to Arms**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

I stood beside Crowley on a balcony that jutted out from the palace, overlooking our kingdom. A crowd sprawled out before me, necks straining to look up at us. They knew something was wrong. Could see it in the armor I wore and the frown cutting across Crowley's face. The light glinted sharply from my armor and I raised my spear high, catching their attention. Silence descended over them. It was not like the silence of a crowd of living things. There was no breath, no discomforted fidgeting. Silence.

"My people," I extolled, voice booming across them. They did really seem like my people. My responsibility. And I would be damned if Zeus would enslave them out of jealousy and spite. The last time I had had to protect someone I had failed. This time would be different. I was excited though. Imagine that, excited for war.

"An enemy rises from the land of the living." My voice echoed, "We in our haven are yet untested. I built walls around you, I wanted to protect you from every assault, but I fear…I fear it will not be enough. If we are conquered we will fall to ruin and torment."

I took one step forward, all that the balcony would allow and I jutted my spear at them and snarled, "But we will not lie down at their feet. We will not surrender our lands. We will fight!"

A great cheer rose up from them spilling across Hell's chasm. They stamped their feet and snarled. They were not timid. They were not afraid.

Crowley put his hand on my wrist and I looked back at him. He nodded once, a smile tipping his face.

**XXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

The training began at once. Hell itself equipped them with black armor rimmed in gold. They all marched. The men, the women and the children. The old and once infirm. Their strength was no longer that of their bodies and all took up the swords and glimmering spears Hell provided.

I was proud, as I watched them swing and stab as one. Proud of the fire the burned through them.

I had selected captains, divided their ranks, posted guards at the walls. But Hell's growls and the stories my father had told me had given me another idea. One that I would need my King for.

Crowley was easy to find. He was in his office, as he always had been, of late, bent over long reports that had been sent back to him from the spies he had sent out. As it happened, he was quite good at intrigue.

"Crow, I need you."

He barely looked up, "Now, Bobs?"

"Yeah, now, don't worry, this will be a worthy break."

He looked up at me and made a lazy hand gesture for me to explain.

"Trust me, Crow! I have something big planned. And I can't do it alone. The whole plan rests on you!"

"Darling, you seem to be so used to everyone jumping to your command you might be forgetting that I won't." he spoke with a harsh snarl.

I laughed at him. For the first time, he looked all the way up from the scrolls in front of him and he regarded me. I rushed his desk and slid across it, knocking the scrolls to the ground and landing atop him, my knees on the arm rests of his chair, pressing his shoulders against it with my hands. I grinned predatorily down at him.

"You look stupid jealous. Come with me."

He gripped me by the ankles and stood, knocking me onto my back on the desk. Agilely I flipped backward and landed on my feet atop his desk, laughing. "Come on, Crow."

"Alright, you win." He conceded, "lead on."

I leapt down from the desk and held out my hand, he took it and gave me a defeated sort of look. "I wasn't giving you an order, you know."

"You remind me of your father."

"Shut up."

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

I led Crowley to the outer rim of Hell, to its back wall where the golden flowers gave way to rocks and crevices.

I held out my hand to stop him and looked down at the cold ground beneath me.

"What are we doing out here?"

"I have an idea."

I lifted my hands and concentrated and Hell cracked beneath me, a deep ravine arcing down into the blackness. I turned to him, "So, spill your blood."

"What?"

"We had a deal, Black Eyes, open your veins." I paused to give him a rough smile, "That's an order." I held a knife out to him.

He took it with an angry sneer and, pushing back his sleeve, cut open the flesh of his forearm. The blood spilt bright and red, curling around his arm and dripping into the darkness.

Down deep in the ravine light sparked, a thin tongue of flame that painted the rock. A harsh and angry color that hell had not yet seen. A sharp break rent the stillness and the red light careened up at us.

"Do better, Crow!" I shouted to him about the whooshing of the flames. "What do you want!?"

His eyes were intense and focused on the pit, I watched his breath quicken and his fists clench. The flames reflected in his dark eyes and a mad grin cut his face. I laughed brightly.

Growling churned from the depths, scrabbling against the rocks. Howls echoed up, and broken scraping. It grew louder. I stomach hurt from exuberant laughter.

Over the lip of the ridge beasts crawled from the depths, long, thick claws, snarling mouths. The largest made it over the edge first. Body as big as a car, three heads whipping back and forth. It stalked toward us and snapped its teeth and stopped. The great hound stopped, its breath hot against our skin and nuzzled the middle of its three heads against Crowley's chest, growling sedately. The other hounds leapt to the walls, scrabbling up them vertically and dropping into the wastes beyond. I laughed with excitement and swung around to look back at Crowley.

His hand was resting on the dog's middle head and he was smiling languidly at me. "You were designed to laugh, kitten."

I furrowed my brow at him, "I spend half my life laughing at you, Hade."

"I know you do." He said it fondly, with soft eyes.

I strode over to him and put my hand out to the dog's right head, it sniffed me and growled tenderly. I scratched its ears and grinned at Crowley.

His eyes slid over me slowly, "This didn't help you."

I tipped my head back and laughed again, "Of course it did."

"It tainted your control of Hell."

"Nah," I dismissed, "It strengthened Hell. So it's good for me. When are you going to stop being a short sighted demon idiot and realize we work better as a team." I slugged him in the shoulder.

"Would you consider not hitting me like we are football buddies."

"No." I laughed and slugged him again, "Come on, is there some rule that I can't hit you when you're being an idiot and laugh at you and still kiss you?"

He looked at me for a moment, "There sort of is."

I wanted to laugh at him again but I didn't. I raised a single eyebrow elegantly and shifted my weight onto one foot, my hand resting on my hip. I gave him my best haughty, queenly look. "I'm not sure if anyone told you, but I'm the Queen of Hell. I write the rules."

He wrapped his fingers around the lip of my armor where it met my neck and he pulled me forward. I tipped forward and kissed him. "Crowley!" I laughed, leaning backward, "You're the father of Hellhounds."

He gave me an off centered grin through his beard and laughed low in his throat, his head tilted back. "Yes I am."

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

I was so young. I haven't stopped to remember all this in so long and by his majesty Time, I was young. I choked down everything dark so easily. They were a drug, living people, dead people, people were a drug. Remembering, it was like I wasn't quite clear headed, I had gotten high and stayed there, laughing and leaping around like I was wild. God, I was _excited _for the war. Did I not consider fields covered in blood? Boys torn down in their prime. Girls ripped screaming from their beds? Of course I didn't. I was so young. Crowley too, he was so young, he didn't seem so at the time, of course, but he was, just so young.

I've always thought that in those days Crowley must have just been putting up with me. I was so crazed and so aimless. It wasn't until later that we became what we really were. Then he was all ambition and I was just hungry. But maybe that's what he wanted, he wasn't what he would be yet either, after all.

Those things you're supposed to learn, how to act around someone who calls you magnificent, were supposed to be taught while I was learning how to strip a can open with a blunt knife. Sometimes, it felt like Crowley was the only thing that was really real. He had been the only person for so long. Sometimes, it was like everybody else was an illusion and they would just glitter away and it would be me and him, eating old cans of non-perishable food, legs tangled in the bunker, speaking a language only we cared to remember.

**AN: Sorry about the long awaited and very short chapter. A new one is coming up soon I hope #weekend?**


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22: Sugar Coating**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

I hate to continue to interrupt my story with vague ramblings. But there are other things more important that the war that brewed. What I mean to say is that, all of that was still happening, I was still training with my soldiers every day, I still made battle plans and tried my hand and logistical analysis. But that isn't what's important. War was never as important as I thought it would be. This was the beginning of my golden days. This is what is important.

I was on the wall, surveying. Running really, sprinting pell-mell across the top of it, that three headed hound on my tail, we had called him Cerberus, out of duty. He yelped and barked as he chased me, and I howled and I fled, running atop the ramparts with disdain for the danger. The dead hooted at me as I scampered passed. My disregard for the seriousness of our situation gave them unexpected bursts of hope. That's how Crowley put it anyway.

A streak of light flitted across the horizon, deep in the pits that now spread beyond the walls. Crowley's pits. I stopped midstep, my foot dangling precariously in the air. Cerb growled behind me. Without a second thought I flipped over the edge of the wall and skated to the ground. Hell, I had found would rise up for me when I fell, so the sheer drop down the side of the wall face was a few seconds wild skidding. Cerberus, unfortunately did not follow but howled after me.

I thought, perhaps, that this light was the sign of something coming, an agent of Zeus, I had my armor on, as I always did in those days, and was determined to face it. As I remarked on before, I was irresponsibly excited for this war. So I flew off, my soldiers yelling warnings after me, and I ignoring them. It was, after all, only one little light.

I stopped a ways off from the very person shaped thing I could see heading toward me. It was an odd person shaped thing. And only mostly person shaped. He, for I thought it was a he, even from this distance, seemed to be limping. The magnitude of that, however, paled rather considerably in lieu of the rather majestic set of wings that were sprouted from his back.

These weren't the squalid and broken wings of a Hellion either, even from here the feathers glistened, even if some of them looked a little bent.

I jogged toward him.

I stopped twenty or so paces away, the face guard down on my helmet, my spear up. Quite famously, of course, there was an angel who found his way into hell, and I wasn't perfectly sure when that was supposed to happen, but I was perfectly sure that I wouldn't like it when it did.

"Halt!" I barked, pointing my spear at him. That sounded oddly formal and aggressive out loud, but I was a little scared I was going to be going toe to toe with Lucifer so, in defense, I was trying a little to sound like Crowley.

To my embarrassingly strong surprise, he did halt, wavering a little on his feet. Getting good look at him, I was almost immediately sure he wasn't Lucifer, or if he was, he didn't seem like much of a threat. He was a little thing, half grown at most, chestnutty hair all ruffled, scowl set over his eyes that didn't quite get rid of their softness. His face still had a child's roundishness. He stood his ground but looked scared more than anything. It was hard to keep my spear pointed at him, he looked so little and afraid and those baby eyes in that child face looked an awful lot like my little time god.

"Are you alright, kid?"

This livened him, "I'm not a kid!"

He had certainly perfected the put upon look. But at the same time, his cheeks were hollow and his fingers shook, I lowered my spear but didn't entirely relax it. I watched as he faded and almost fell before he caught himself.

I glanced over him. Now that I was closer I could see why he had fallen, not only were some of his feathers crooked, there were chunks of them missing and the tip of one was at a rather nasty angle. He stood awkwardly, favoring one side.

"Did somebody attack you?"

I was also becoming certain that this was not an agent of Zeus, but then, if Zeus knew anything about me, this is just the sort of agent he would send. An adorably snot nosed kid, damaged and alone. I had such a blind side for anything partially grown. Crowley told me sometimes that it was a side effect of being a female, but I had a suspicion that it was the side effect of murdering the first child I had ever known.

The boy, for he was hardly more than a boy, I wasn't sure how angels aged but if he had been a human, he would have been hardly any older than maybe eleven, teetered. His eyes fluttered closed and he tipped forward. I caught him haphazardly and put a steadying arm around him, he still had the skinny shoulders of a child. His wings flapped in an attempt to keep himself upright and he winced visibly.

"It's ok, kid, I'll bring you someplace safe, you'll be ok."

We struggled back toward the wall, his feet scraping along the hot ground in a slow pattern. At this closer proximity, I thought a few of his ribs were broken.

He fell right as we reached the wall and for a moment I was perplexed as to what to do. His wings stretched limply out under him, making it impossible to lift him up like a normal little boy. I laid him down softly, his breathing shallow. Careful not to jostle the broken sections, I wrapped his wings up around him and lifted him into my arms.

Sensing the inconvenience of wall climbing, a slim threshold manifested in the wall and I walked through it, bearing my little angel, heading swiftly back to the palace. Carrying him, he seemed even littler than he had before, each of his little ribs stuck out. I hurried on.

The guards at the palace doors were hasty to admit me, burdened as I was and I made straight for a spare room. As I marched passed our war room, Crowley looked up from his maps and furrowed his brow at me. As I continued on I could hear him following.

"What is that you've found, kitten?"

"Oh, darling can I keep it?" I called back over my shoulder, doing my best to sound eager and forlorn. He opened the door for me, mostly, I thought, as an excuse to get in front of me and look at what I was carrying.

He looked at me nonplussed, "Is that an angel?"

"…just a little one."

I brushed passed him and laid the little guy out on the bed, untucking his wings and stretching them out. I set to work, bending back the twisted feathers and cleaning the blood from his wounds, wrapping them in bandages.

"Who is he?"

"I don't know, he didn't say."

Crowley sighed in exasperation, "This is the sort of moronic, ill conceived idea that is going to get a knife shoved into your pretty little throat. Or worse yet, my pretty little throat."

"I couldn't leave him, Hades, look at him."

He opened his mouth to say something else and then closed it. He walked toward the door then turned back, "Bobby, saving a half grown angel brat isn't going to bring back Ethan."

"Thanks, Crowley, I was here waiting on baited breath for me to not have murdered my own kid."

He sighed angrily, "He wasn't _your _kid, Bobs."

I snarled back at him, "Then whose kid was he, Crowley? Was he Castiel's? The Hellion's that we found him with? Was he yours?"

"For Hell's sake, Bobby, he was a pathetic little orphan boy, he wasn't anybody's."

"He can't just be nobody's!"

He looked condescendingly at me, "Of course he can, there are thousands of children that are nobody's. And they take care of themselves or they die. You can't take care of every snotty brat without a mother just because you put a knife in the first one you happened to know personally."

I straightened my back and looked across at him with frigid eyes, the voice that came out of me was one I wasn't yet familiar with. It was low and controlled with ice behind it, "Yes, Crowley, I can. And until every patch of the Hell I built with my blood is on fire and every ounce of my strength is gone, I will never kill another child and if they ask me for help, they will always get it.

Crowley looked taken aback at me, used to my wild and rushing energy and disaffected laughing he didn't seem entirely able to recognize me. He blinked a few times then gave me a little sneer, "If you had spoken like that to Zeus we wouldn't be in this mess." Then he swung around and left me to the boy angel.

I returned to tending him, his wounds were wrapped and he was mostly clean of the caked on blood, he was a lot cuter when he looked less battle worn. A big round face and tiny little limbs, entirely dwarfed by long, muscled wings. I stroked his hair back from his face and he woke in a rush.

His wings flapped in fright and he tried desperately to sit up. I put a soft hand on his chest and pushed him back into the bed.

"You're okay," I murmured, "Stay still, you're safe."

He lay back, looking around the room. "Where am I? Who are you?"

The defensiveness had leaked out of his voice and left the tremble of a scared little boy.

"You're in the palace in the underworld, my name is Persephone."

He furrowed his brow, "You're the Queen right? The Queen of the dead."

"Yeah, something like that," I laughed, "You got a name?"

He turned his head away and looked uncomfortable, I let it go, familiar with a resistance to use one's real name.

"How'd you get down here, featherbrain?"

He straightened a little, "Hey! I'm not a featherbrain, featherbrain!"

I ruffled his hair, "You look featherbrained to me."

He laughed, his laugh was one of the most adorable things that I had heard.

"You look hungry, do angels eat?"

He grinned, "Yeah we eat, it really pisses off Mikey, my brother, he says that if people, I mean like humans, treated Dad like they should we wouldn't have to, but yeah we eat and I'm starving can I have something to eat?"

He said all of this very fast and rather blurred together, I fought back giggling at, what I could only presume was the great archangel Michael would one day cajole my father to be his vessel for the final judgment being called Mikey.

"I'll get you something." I stood up and walked to the door, I called out of it for Anydka. She came bustling up the hall and stopped before me.

"Yes, m'lady? Can I help you with something?"

"Yeah, Any, could you get some food for our little guest?" I turned back to Freatherbrain, "What do you want?"

He gave me a playful little smile, "Dessert."

I laughed, "Could you get him dessert?"

Anydka gave me a half bow and flitted away, I walked back to the kid, "So you're really not going to tell me your name, you can make something up if you want."

He furrowed his brow, "Like just pick a name?"

I laughed, "Hell, I did."

"Really?" he sounded quite amazed and impressed, then he huddled forward conspiratorially. "So what's your real name?"

I edged closer and whispered, "Can you keep a secret?"

He nodded excitedly.

"Ok, well I'll make you a deal, I'll tell you my name I you promise to tell me yours. But we keep our deals in the underworld, ok?"

He nodded, "Deal."

I whispered very softly, "My name is Bobby Winchester." It felt nice, sort of, to tell someone else my real name. Like I was really there and not just pretending.

He looked like he had been given a great gift for a moment but then sort of hunched back, looking uneasy.

"You made a deal, featherbrain."

He pouted but looked up at me irately, "Gabriel, okay. They call me Gabriel."

"Nice to meet you, Gabriel."

Anydka came back in with a tray half filled with desserts and a nice reasonable amount of fortifying dinner. I stood and took the tray from her, "Thanks, Any." I said.

I gave Gabriel the tray and he set in, entirely ignoring the food and filling his face ravenously with the desserts.

I pulled a chair around to sit next to him, occasionally snagging bite or two from his desserts. "So who beat you up, angellette?"

"Nobody," he said, his cheeks chipmunkingly full with dessert, "I mean…nobody on purpose."

"So, who accidentally turned you into a punching bag?"

"My brothers." He said, quieter than before, swallowing his treats. He hurried to elaborate, "They weren't trying to hurt me, they were fighting. I mean each other. They always do that. I just wanted them…I just wanted to them to stop fighting. Michael and Lucifer I mean, those were my brothers who were fighting. I just…I just wanted them to stop. It's my fault." He stopped talking and crammed another dessert into his mouth.

I didn't think that platitudes about it not being his fault would help, so I took some more of his dessert and ruffled his hair. "You can stay here as long as you want."

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

I had never had more fun than while little Gabe was running around. He healed quickly, not instantly as I was told he one day would be able to, but faster than most. It was his wings that took the longest. But the moment he was able to clamber up onto his feet he was darting after me around the palace and through the fields of Hell.

His laughter was omnipresent and his humor relentless. But he never left my side, something that seemed to irritate Crowley to no end. Half of the day I nearly tripped over the boy as he scampered around under my feet.

It was three weeks into his stay when his wings finally looked better. I wasn't sure if it had taken so long for them to heal because they were delicate and intricate angelic contraptions or because he seemed to have so little control over them. Perpetually he would skid around a doorway and let his wings slam against the threshold then just stop and shudder, his face alight with pain. Then he'd shiver and take off again. But after three weeks of this abuse on his tender wings, they seemed back to strength.

I threw out my arm and stopped him scampering passed me, "You wanna try to fly today, Gabe?"

He looked up at me, "You think I can?"

"No, I think you've got tiny puny baby wings."

He looked at me fiercely and beat his wings, "I. Do. Not."

I laughed and, after a long moment he laughed too, "I can fly. Come on, will you watch me?"

"Course, Gabey Babey." I pushed his shoulder, "Let's go outside."

He followed me outside, giddy with excitement. The moment we got outside he started running, I watched him work himself up to full speed, wings spread out behind him. He leapt high and beat his wings furiously. His little body lifted ungainly into the air. He whooped happily and cried out.

"Sephy! I'm flying again! I'm flying!" He laughed for a long time and slid through the air, going in loops and whirls.

"I suppose he is rather cute." A gruff voice said behind me. I turned, Crowley was standing with his arms folded over his chest. "I guess if we were going to have a pet, a pet angel is an alright one to have."

"Yeah, I like him."

"Is it true he has to eat?"

"Yeah, he eats pretty much just dessert so far, but he definitely was starving when I found him."

"And to think that eventually his race will end the entire world, aren't you the least bit angry?"

"At the tiny barely grown angel who had nothing to do with it? No. Are you?"

"I'm always a big angry, comes with the territory."

I laughed, "The territory of being the uncontested king of a Hell you helped build with hand crafted Hellhounds, a personally trained army and an adorable Queen?"

"You aren't adorable."

"Well I don't want to hone in on your area of expertise."

"You crafted hell, took control of the legions, and look better than me in armor, what do you mean you don't want to hone in on my area of expertise?"

"I left you being adorable. You're doing great."

"Glad you think so."

Crowley gave me a long and rather warm look, then clicked his fingers and disappeared. He had recently rediscovered he could do that and I wasn't sure he had walked anywhere since.

Gabe landed in front of me and teetered forward, "Were you watching?"

"Yeah, Gabe," I said smiling proudly at him, "I like the loops."

"I learned those all on my own aren't I good at them are you hungry I'm really hungry can we get some food how cool was it when I was flying upside down did you see that did you see when I almost hit the wall but then I did that dive whats for dinner a lesser angel would have hit the ground but did you see how good I did oh did you see my spiral I was going so fast I thought I'd throw up."

"Let's just get something to eat." I said in lieu of putting a hand over his mouth. He had been breathlessly talking without a single pause, if anything, getting faster as he continued. 

"Ok!"

He followed me to the dining room, the small one, we had one for big royal things, and a little one just for us, and now for Gabe. There was food already there, I thought Crowley must be to thank for that. Without pausing for breath Gabe threw himself into his bench. We had given him a bench so he had wing room, and started shoveling food into his mouth, talking around about three forkfuls of potatoes and roast.

I tilted my head at him, "Wow, real food, you must really be starving."

"Huh?"

I gasped mockingly at him, "I've never seen you eat real food when you could be eating all of that cake I'm sure they brought just for you."

He shrugged, "I'm really hungry and…" he trailed off and shoved some more food into his mouth.

"And what Gabe?" he had looked so happy a moment before.

"I dunno…I…I like it here…a lot. Eating desserts is something I just…I dunno." He looked unsure of himself, "Something I do when I'm sad." Then he shook off his melancholy and grinned, shoving food ravenously into his mouth.

**AN: Long fun chapter that was fun! I hope you guys liked my addition to The Bobby Crowley family!**


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23: Warfare**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

With little Gabriel around, it seemed like I could prolong this gap in violence forever. How, my subconscious brain asked, could someone, even someone as loathsome as Zeus, attack a place that had my Gabey Baby in it? But, of course, I could not prolong it into perpetuity, and regardless to how infectious Gabe's laughter was. It was the middle of the night when it happened.

Crowley and I were in our room, I was lying with my head on his chest, listening to his heart thump in my ear. I wasn't exactly asleep, I had found I needed less and less of it, most of my nights spent in quite respite without ever actually sleeping. But this was a ritual neither of us wanted to do away with. It was a comfort to sit in the dark with him. Sometimes we spoke, mostly we didn't. Once in awhile he told me stories, stories of the old days on Earth and in Hell. Sometimes we told each other about things we had done while we had been apart during the day. It was creating an odd effect where things did not seem entirely real until I had relayed them to him and he had given his, mostly rude and sarcastic, opinions.

That night, though, we weren't talking, his chest was warm and he pulled his fingers through my lengthening hair, freeing it of tangles one by one. From the window, a noise echoed in from across the fields of Hell, a deep, resonant thudding. I knew what it was but didn't want it. I wanted to stay here with Crowley and listen to him disparage the idiocy of his underlings. In rejection of the noise, I pulled my face closer to Crowley's chest.

"Was that you?" I asked, although it clearly wasn't. I was hoping he would say that it was, that he had learned to manipulate and alter Hell nearly as well as I could and he had just constructed a mountainous statue of himself in Hell's exact center. I asked him as much.

He looked down at me and tilted up an eyebrow, "You would let me build a mountainous statue of myself?"

I laughed and remained another moment on his chest, "You're asking for permission now? Is that kingly?"

He tugged a lock of my hair, "You must not have met my queen, she is a force to be considered."

I sat up, "So then, it was a war starting?"

"Yes, kitten, it was a war starting, are you ready?"

I ignored the question and frowned at him, "You're not fighting, yeah?"

"Do you want me to?"

I shook my head, "You're no good at fighting. Do something you're good at."

He smirked, "Then you go and distract him and I'll win the war."

I got up to put on my armor. Crowley pulled his legs around the other side and rose with me.

I desperately wanted this war to not be here yet. As much as I had been excited for the adrenaline throttling of this war, I had so enjoyed the purposeful peace. I had begun to love my tiny family. We had started having dinners together, almost every night. That had been grand, mostly Crowley and I watching in stunned silence as Gabriel devoured platefuls of food. Crowley not so much held my hand sometimes and would meaningfully allow our fingers to touch. It brought more comfort that I would have anticipated. Sometimes they would get into what they would call arguments, which warmed me to watch. Gabe never relented and Crowley was never out of things to say.

Days ago we were sitting at that little table, Crowley looking over at Gabriel as he worked his way through a potpie.

Gabe took a momentary break, his cheeks packed with food to say, "Cah ah ve mer?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full, vagabond little monster." Crowley said with not a little affection.

Gabey swallowed massively and said more clearly, "Can I have armor? I mean, armor for me? Like Seph's?" Seph being what he called me.

"Why do you need armor? Who will you be fighting, Zeus's Kindergarten Killers?"

Gabe ruffled his wings in confusion, "Huh?"

Crowley sighed, "No." But he kept watching Gabriel, eyes narrowed with what I recognized as curiosity.

Gabe let out an enormous squeal of indignation, "Please!"

Crowley chided him, "Don't beg, it's pathetic and beneath you. Tell me why I should go out of my way to make you armor."

Gabriel looked for a long time at him, then went back to eating, slowly this time, brow pulled together tightly. Finally he looked back up and said, "Ok, so like…I mean… ok so I'm little now and not helpful but I have to learn right? So I mean if you give me armor then I can get good at having armor and then when I'm bigger and useful I'll be extra useful and I can do stuff like if there is another war then like I can be there and help. And um… watch Seph's back and yeah."

I have to admit it was not eloquent.

Crowley laughed, "Very good. Ok, you're almost there. Convince me that you're doing me a favor by letting me provide you with armor."

Gabriel screwed up his face again and went back to eating. His wings twitched and moved as he thought. Then, more slowly that the first time and with much more care he said, "Hades, every moment I am in your kingdom without access to armor you are squandering valuable time for me to train into the warrior I will become. If you delay any longer I might be forced to leave and find a patron more willing to give me armor and training. Then the next war you fight might be against me. That isn't an outcome you want."

Crowley laughed so hard he was breathless, "Excellent! I particularly like the threat at the end. Be careful though, because I know as well as you do that you won't leave Hell just to get better military training, so why should I be afraid of you?"

Gabe hit his little fist on the table and unfurled his wings to their biggest, "I don't know!"

Crowley gave a small tug at one of his wings, "I'll get you your armor. But next time you'll have to negotiate better than that."

In culmination of all of the years I have walked on the earth and beneath it, this is still one of my favorite memories, sitting beside Crowley as he taught my little Gabe to negotiate. It's this that I was thinking of as I strapped myself into my armor.

I had again become responsible for a little life. And I was taking it to war. Hadn't I learned? I had begun to dream, when I slept, terrible images of Gabriel being ripped apart, his little wings being torn from his body, his chest being sliced open. I always woke with the taste of blood.

There was a heavy knocking on the door. "Come in." I called.

My two captains came in, both of them armored and out of breath, wildness in one of their eyes, determination in the other.

"M'lady, they're here." The taller of them said.

"Yeah, yeah, I heard, help me with my armor?"

They, Gilgash and Enkit that is, helped me clip and tether the metal to me.

Fully armored I turned my back on my captains and looked at Crowley, he was draped in his finest robes, in case he came up against Zeus, I supposed. I walked over to him and straightened them, my fingers lingering for a moment too long. "Be careful, Crowley." I whispered, too softly for my captains to hear.

"You too, Bobby." He murmured back

"I have a deal for you," I whispered, "If you live, I will too."

He smiled gently, "Deal."

I scoffed, barely audible, "Is that how you seal your deals?" Before he could respond I seized him by the robes and kissed him desperately. Then, before I could lose my nerve, I turned from him and marched to my captains, who had looked away.

I led Gilgash and Enkit out through the palace and out its double doors. The army came up in ranks behind me as I walked toward the wall, we had prepared for just this sort of thing, they too knew what the noise meant and were ready to defend. I wondered if any of them had left someone behind in relative safety. I wondered if they were as frightened as I was. Crowley was not beside me for this, he probably didn't even really know what I was doing, but then, I didn't really know what he was doing.

I apologize that I keep doing this, breaking the narrative, but as the First and the Eldest Queen of Hell, I do believe I can break the narrative whenever I like. You see Crowley, don't despair, there are a few ways you have influenced me. In that first battle, it was the first time since I had found him that I had to do something frightening alone. And it was the first time that I realized that he went off and did things that I had never considered before. Probably important things. Probably things that I would be no good at.

I have been told, or deciphered, or engrained, from stories that were _love stories_ but not so much stories about _people_ who loved each other, that this is not how it is supposed to go. Didn't star crossed loves of the ages do their things together? Did they not move their every breath in tandem? Did not our very separability circumscribe us with second class affection? I used to wonder about that a lot. These days I am too old to care much about those things. That was a part of the way were to each other that lasted the millennia. We really did very few important things side by side. Although I do think that was appropriated each other's strengths as though they were our own. There are still days where I think I have an ace in the hole when I am asked to negotiate, I don't of course, I am hopeless at negotiation. Of course, he is hopeless in armor.

He was not the entire world. That was reciprocal. But we were inseverably tethered. The world, rather than be crafted of him, orbited us as a team in an ellipse with a double center.

So I marched off to battle alone, at the head of the Army of Hell. The wall welcomed us and with my contingent, we arrived at the top of it, looking down across Hell's sloping pits. The hellhounds gnashed their teeth and stalked along its perimeter. This offered me some comfort. The gnashing of Hellhounds still comforts me, sorry dad. Beneath us were Zeus' armies.

I have to admit, I had not been so frightened since I had been cornered by the Hellions.

Zeus had mighty and shining armies. They spanned my entire field of vision and glinted of gold and silver and pearl. My people armored in Hell's dark metal inlaid with gold did not seem so impressive.

Dad, I wanted to badly to run. For the first time since I had been tiny I wanted to run all the way to the bunker and I wanted you to be waiting and, Dad, I wanted you to spin your gun and fight them for me. But I was the only Winchester on that wall and Winchesters don't run from a fight. So I tucked my chin up high and tried not to tremble.

Zeus was carried forward on a grand litter, sitting with wide spread legs on a thick and daunting golden throne. He too, was armored. White and golden armor with a tall and shining helmet, sparking lighting sheathed at his hip. He stood and stepped off the litter, stalking to the ground and tilting his head back up, looking to me.

"Hades." He boomed, "I am giving you one chance to surrender before I rend your wall to pieces, consider it a generosity."

For a moment I wondered how far away he was that he thought I was Crowley. We stood about the same height, I supposed, but I was slimmer by half, and…you know…a woman. I lifted my helmet and was glad, for the first time, that I had allowed my hair to grow long again, it spilled with swaying femininity from my spiked metal helmet and across my dark metal shoulders. I smiled down at him and I hope he could see the kind eyes I radiated. "Thank you for your generosity, Sky Lord, but to rend my wall you would first have to reach it."

I said these things laced in sweetness, then lowered my helmet. He snarled and raised a bolt to hurl but beneath him, the ground shuddered. I had meant it as a threat for the sake of threats, but before the bolt let his meaty hand, Crowley made his first play. The earth, should I say earth? Hell beneath Zeus' army cracked open in a deep chasm around the walls, a moat of dark growling. It was the crack he had made when he added his blood to mine in Hell's makeup. But deeper and longer and much more menacing.

Zeus stumbled back, falling to the ground and crawling desperately onto safer ground. For this, I really did want Crowley next to me, if not to hear whatever he had to say about the King of Gods falling on his ass and crawling like a horror movie harlot. Laughter sparkled through my armies. Hounds, thousands of them, clawed up the moat and faced the gleaming army. As though on command, actually, probably on Crowley's command, they ripped into them. Those Hellhounds could hardly be stopped, flesh and metal shrieked and split. It was into this tumult that we charged.

Leading the charge I leapt from the wall. Small, foot sized pieces of stone flew up from the chasm to meet my every step, allowing me to run downwards at the fleeing army. My own army following me closely. We came up behind the hellhounds and struck with our spears and our swords, cutting down the soldiers the hounds had missed. Zeus was long gone when we reached the ground.

Only long after did I feel the weight of the blood I spilled. It was heavy. But in my armor, my blood high, spear singing, I felt only the sparse weight of my metal bearing me down. I could leap farther than a living man, cleave through torsos, spin like a swallow in flight. It was like a dance and I was so alive. I hooted and laughed and fell in love with how I fought. In a different life, where I might have spent my adolescence napping in the back of Dad's Impala, a life where I knew a sawed off shotgun better than I knew a spear and the call of a hellhound, I would have been a good hunter. Would I have been a good hunter?

The hellhounds leading the way, Hell slipping beneath the enemy and sure beneath us, we were routing them. They did not stand a chance.

I laughed into the air as I spun around a golden arrow, and dipped beneath the next one. I turned to the archer and saw perhaps the most beautiful man I had ever born witness to. His shining golden hair fell in waves and curls about his angular face, lips small and, at the moment, turned down. He raised his bow again, looking down his arrow at me with luminescent blue eyes.

In a lyric voice he raged, "I do not miss!"

I charged straight toward him, deflecting the arrow with a spinning spear. "What was that?" I yelled as I bore down on him, running my spear through his shoulder, he screamed an almighty scream as I turned away, "I MISSED IT!"

Horror crossed his face and, shuddering, he looked down at his shoulder, golden liquid pouring from it. His blood, I thought, ichor when its coming out of a god.

Having now made myself giggle in the middle of a battle, I leapt over him and continued my rampage through Zeus' troops. They began to fall back, led by the golden Apollo, shoulder still bleeding where I had wounded him. This is where I made my mistake. It was my first battle, I felt untouchable. They were retreating, clearly defeated. I forgot myself. I gave chase. Hellhounds raced behind me and, in recollection, I probably cut quite the figure, dripping blood, clad in blackened armor inlaid with golden flowers, spear high, hellhounds pouring around me and snarling circuits, chasing down the army of Zeus.

I did not see the lightning bolt until I was on the ground, shuddering and gasping, my body outside of my control. I convulsed on the ground, electricity arcing across the jagged edges of my armor. Before I could recover strong arms lifted my and gripped me in vices. I swung around the best I could, my helmet had become crooked while I shook on the ground and my muscles were still in the process of betraying me, but I could see a snatch of the man who had me in so unbreakable a hold. Sun darkened skin and a ferocious black beard. He smelled of old blood. I kicked out and thrashed, he just lifted me and it was like a child squirming in her father's arms. I am not sure he even noticed the fight I was putting up.

Zeus approached me and removed my helmet, dropping it the ground. There was a long and spiking crown that came up from it in uneven tines, one of them broke off in the tumble, weakened, no doubt, by its acquaintance with the lighting. Zeus was smiling, it was a genial smile, would have been friendly if it had made it all the way to his eyes.

I grimaced at him and he took a piece of my hair and let it run through his squared fingers, "You aren't as pretty as I would have hoped, you'd think the King of the Underworld could do better."

I spit at him and I expected him to hit me with the back of his hand, but he did not. He straightened, wiped the spit from his armor and touched a lightning bolt on his hip delicately, a caress. He raised his hand to me, blue arcs lighting glinting malevolently on his teeth and touched my face.

I would like to report that I took that bravely, that I did not flinch, that I kept eye contact with my assailant and stood Winchestarianly strong. I did not. I screamed and tried to pull away, the amperage ricocheting down my body like knives. Zeus was still talking but I couldn't understand through the ringing in my ears.

"Show them what we've got." Zeus said with a smile. The man holding me turned me around to face the wall. My army was there, hanging back now, spears at their sides, watching their mighty queen scream like a little girl. Even the Hellhounds were still.

"You tell Hades," Zeus boomed toward the wall, "That he may exchange this blood soaked kingdom at any time for his crowned whore."

I laughed, doing my best to channel the little bravery I had left, "You don't know Hades well enough, Zeus," my voice was cracked, "He doesn't like me enough to give up Hell."

He ran a finger down the side of my face, letting it caress down the side of my body and stopping at my hip. Through my armor I nearly couldn't feel it, but it inspired an entirely new sort of fear. "Oh," he said in a low and gravely tone, "You had better hope that isn't true."

There was only one source of motion on the field, all of them too unwilling to continued to advance while I was captive. Except for a little winged body wearing a tiny set of armor that he still couldn't fly properly with, he kept stumbling and having to take a few earth bound steps. I could hear his little tiny voice, "SEPH SEPH NO!" I saw him snap his fingers like Crowley and a spear wavered into existence in his hand. He threw it mightily. It fell to the ground more than twenty yards from Zeus.

Too far, thankfully, for Zeus to take note, and, praise be my Captains, Gilgash and Enkit had seized him by the struggling arms and pulled him back. Little Gabriel, struggling toward me, fear lacing his eyes, was the last I saw of my Hell before I was pulled away.

The man behind me wrenched me into a chariot and tethered me down. I finally got a good look at him, dark gray eyes with no life in them, bloody red lips. His muscles were thick and my god, he stank. He had sort of a menacing beauty and I thought that might mean he was a god, managing to be beautiful through all that. His jaw was certainly firm and he was flawlessly symmetrical.

I could only see the inside of the chariot. But what I would have given for another look toward my wall, what I would have given to see Crowley on top of it, or in armor of his own, fighting his way toward me. I don't know if, before I was captured, I would have liked the thought wanting to be saved so badly. But I wanted to be saved so badly. I was so afraid, I shook in my armor and was so close to crying.

We left Hell shortly and began to ascend. I don't' have much to say about the trip to Olympus, I couldn't see any of it, which was probably the point of shoving me on the floor of a chariot, turned so I couldn't see out the back.

The last part, or perhaps most of it, I'm not sure, I spent unconscious via crazy eyes, Ares, I thought, kicking me in the head.

So I awoke, head hurting from the metal wrapped kicking and body hurting from Holy Lighting. Ares hauled me up, holding me by the wrists. My shoulders were nearly dislocated before I found my feet. Olympus was grand and as filled with gold filigree and marble as I expected, less grand, I am happy to write, than Hell was. Have a drink Crowley, we beat Zeus.

Ares took me to one of the most beautiful prisons I could imagine. Of course, the only one I had ever seen was in Bobby Singer's decrepit broken panic room, so this was not a high bar.

There were no walls, just a smallish, flat plateau of marble raised slightly from the Olympus around it. Atop it, waiting for me, was the ugliest dog I had ever seen. Its body was covered with a hundred eyes which raced and peered in every direction, its slathering mouth open and drooling. Ares untied me and threw me onto the platform. The dog smelled worse than he did. Rancid.

I pushed myself up and faced him, he looked down at me and I rose, feet planted firmly. He regarded me with his dark eyes and spoke, "Fought well."

"You too."

He seemed to appreciate that, and looked like he was going to say something else. But Zeus's chariot, gold, with lightning etched upon the side, racketed up next to him and the King God stepped down, silencing Ares. Zeus was smiling at me, a ravenous smile.

Ares gave me a rather pitying expression and turned his back, leaving me alone with Zeus.

**AN: There it is, my lovely readers! Update soon, I think. Let me know what you think! **


	24. Chapter 24

**K guys, so I updated the rating for this, it is M now. And I feel obliged to throw a VIOLENCE warning to you. So**

**WARNING : VIOLENCE**

**Chapter 24: Prisoner**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

My worst days were spent in the Olympian prison. Dad, I want to tell you that I was okay, and that it wasn't too bad. I really want to tell you that everything was fine and I was there for a single frightening night and then in my Winchesterian resolve I discovered a way to not only escape but bring Olympus down around me. But if I'm just going to lie, then writing to you doesn't have any point at all.

I was destined to live and breathe for another 6000 years after this. Right until I followed you in your baby circa 2014. But my worst days were spent in Olympus.

Zeus left, that first day and I remained unscathed. I didn't sleep, I didn't have to anymore and I had nothing to lull me into any sort of meditation. The days strung together, night did not fall, the weather did not change. I was stranded without company or a gauge of time. I murmured in a low voice to the old ghosts of my childhood. But if Zeus thought that this would wound me, he was mistaken. If there is a soul residing on the earth, above it, or beneath it, who is more resilient to solitude than I am, I pity their upbringing. So those first days were not so bad. After all, I had the tools I needed to combat this. This was a familiar pain.

I occasionally, even, had a silent and solitary visitor, a woman, goddess, I suppose who came and stared at me with dark and brooding eyes. She was tall and straight backed, dark curling hair twisted elegantly. She wore a thin circlet about her head and I hazarded my guess at Hera. She never spoke, but her eyes blazed with anger when she looked at me. I was not sure why.

I wondered as I waited if Crowley was doing anything to rescue me or if I was going to have to rescue myself. I was happy to try, but I would have to kill that hundred eyed dog and I was entirely unarmed. I had started to watch the gods who walked passed me, trying to see which of them carried weapons that could be theoretically lifted off of them. As far as I could see my only viable target was Apollo, with a thin dagger that protruded from his left boot. Athena's spear was always clutched in her hand and Artemis kept her knives at her hips. Apollo's dagger I thought I could get. But he would have to get so close. I didn't want him so close.

I tried to plot and scheme ways to get him near enough me to get it. Crowley would have been good at this, but I couldn't think of a way to get him to me without it ending in serious personal damage. So I waited and envisioned hellhounds eating Zeus to stave off boredom.

The long tedium did not last into perpetuity. It was, I would guess six days after my capture, but it could have been two, or it could have been twenty, when my horizons darkened. Zeus came, anger was in his eyes and excitement. His echoic steps rung out and he mounted the platform, chest bare, hands flexing. I tried to leave as much of a space between us as I could. He would not really hurt me though, that would be part of the bargain. Crowley was so good at bargaining, he would have thought of that, right?

"I have word from your Lord Husband," he said a bit mockingly. I was afraid, he did not sound triumphant or defeated, I did not think this conversation would precipitate my going home. "You were right, little girl," he continued, "He isn't going to trade for you. He won't leave his underworld and he doesn't seem to care about you. I gave him my offer and do you know what he said?" He leaned close to me and his vitriolic breath burned me, "He told me to keep you."

My guts seized up. I tried desperately to say something sarcastic or mean or nonchalant, but it didn't come. My mouth opened but I only gasped. Was Crowley really not coming? I understood that he could run Hell now, entirely without me, he could probably track down and learn how to kill, or have killed, all of the Hellions. I understood that I was no longer a necessary part of his leadership. I did think he would want me to be part of his leadership. Real true fear was icicling through my blood. I had no protection, no master of negotiation was wheedling to keep me undamaged. I would be saved by Zeus' mercy alone, which seemed to be in scant supply.

I backed up as Zeus loomed toward me but as I reached the edge the many eyed dog snarled and snapped at me, its rancid breath coating my nose. I scrambled from the edge, to keep those teeth from me, bringing me unbearably close to Zeus. He bent and lifted me, holding me up by the arms, "Stupid little harlot," he said, voice unnervingly tender, as I kicked and squirmed.

I tried so hard not to shudder. I wanted to be strong and shrug him off and allow him to visit whatever upleasantries he had planned upon my body while I remained removed and stoic. Dad, I wanted to be like you in Hell, I know you survived for thirty years of torment, but his hands were on my bare shoulders and I could hardly do anything to keep myself from crying. Why wasn't Crowley here?

He had already had me stripped of my armor, long ago, the first day, and what remained was the tight fitting and not particularly opaque underclothing.

His face twisted and he growled at me, a voice low and menacing, hot breath intruding across my face. "You wounded my son, you murdered half of my men, if it weren't for you, I would already be on the Underworld's throne. You think you are so strong, I will show you. I will show you that you are _nothing. _ A crying, frightened woman."

I was supposed to be the Queen of Hell. I was supposed to be dauntless and unbreakable. I was supposed to be a Winchester.

I did fight him. I kicked and spit and bit. He was so strong and the dog, he called him Argus, snarled behind me and I tried so hard to get away but he grip was unrelenting. And he could hold me down with only a single hand and fabric tore so easily beneath his fingers and I did cry.

I stopped counting by days and began counting by Zeus' visitations. Five. Eleven. Sixteen. I thought I would become hardened to him, but I did not. Dad, this is the only request I'm going to give you. If you ever get the chance to murder Zeus, take it. Take it and tell him that Persephone sent you.

Seventeen. Battered and perpetually bleeding I swore on my father's car that I would not die up here on this god rock. I would not. I lived on muttering to myself and my ghosts who offered so little protection. Eighteen. The dog needed to be killed. If Argus were killed an hour or so after Zeus had left. Nineteen. I would have time to flee, I could make it at least a little ways, perhaps hide. Twenty. Before I was caught. At the very least. Twenty One. Die on my own terms.

Twenty Two. Apollo kept a knife in his boot.

Twenty Three. I no longer cared how close he would be to me, the next time I saw him I was prepared for him and I cat called at him as he walked passed me, "How is your shoulder, baby?" I snarled, trying desperately to sound sultry and mocking and not at all desperate and unfixable.

He turned and regarded me, anger sparkling in those clear blue eyes. I had him I had him I had him. "Oh, still sore?" I asked jeeringly. "Maybe your _sister_ can teach you to fight a bit better."

He stalked toward me and I did my best to look afraid, rather than triumphant. I didn't think the blade would kill _him_, he was a god. I needed him to leave without knowing that I had it. He stepped up onto the platform, boots clicking as he approached me.

"Are you trying to frighten me, Goldilocks?" I asked, he trembled in rage.

He leaned down and gripped my chin, "I will show you fear, whore." He snarled. His snarl was not particularly snarling, he couldn't really remove the musical quality of his voice and those little hands were not so frightening after Zeus' large and vicelike ones. But there was a uniquely intimidating quality to being attacked by something so beautiful. He struck me across the face and I let myself stumble, it was important he get a rush from defeating me. He had to enjoy this. He had to feel like it was a victory. He laughed his mellifluous laugh and rushed me, pushing me down onto the marble platform. I fought with half of my strength, I maybe could have even gotten him off of me, but that wasn't the object. I fought until he would feel giddy from keeping me down. He was wild and vengeful and caught up entirely in his victory, he never noticed his knife disappearing from his boot.

He left, humming beautifully. I wondered if I should count that.

I carefully held my body between Argus and the knife and threw myself down onto the tatters of my clothing that I had balled into something suitable to lay against. I tried to seem as if I was upset by the encounter, giving me a reason to hold the tatters so close. I couldn't use the knife now, I didn't know how far Zeus was from me and I needed time. I secreted it into my bundle and I waited.

My stomach twisted in a nasty shock. I had to go now. Apollo was going to realize his knife was missing. If I was discovered with it before I could leave it would be the end. I slid the knife back from the bundle and gripped it in my fingers. I rolled up, back to Argus, facing the edge of the platform. I scooted toward it.

Argus growled. I took a step closer and he began his approach, snarling and snapping. I swung my legs over the edge and he leapt, teeth leading.

I wanted to cry out in victory, but I remained silent, I spun onto my back and threw up my hands, catching him above me so he could not snap at my neck. I locked my elbow and pointed the dagger upwards, letting him impale himself down upon it. I sliced down his stomach, though his coating of eyes and his insides fell from his skin and down onto me. The knife bit through him like he was made of water. I was off the platform and gone before he had stopped twitching.

I fled from the dead dog in the direction opposite where Zeus went, willing it to lead me off the mountain. My feet were stinging. The ground was not immaculate and I didn't have any shoes. But I could see the edge of a cliff and the tantalizing breath of freedom. And then someone was in my way.

I stopped, bloody dagger held out. If it could not kill a god, it could cut out their throat and saw through their hamstrings, which would give me time. Facing me was a destructively beautiful woman. Goddess, I supposed. Her hair was caramel colored and caught the light like gemstones. I was struck breathless, unmovable.

"Get out of my way." I said, trying to be commanding, "Let me go. _Please." _

She laughed and shivers went up and down my body. "Not quite yet." She held out her arms, full of fabric, "Take it. Take it and go straight downwards, there is a field beyond, go through the field and cross the water. You will be safe there, across the water."

I snatched the cloth, a sun gold dress and pulled it over my head, delicate and too large in the bust for me, but so much better than nothing. "Why?" I asked, lost.

Her face took on animalistic lines, "You are not the only one to hate Zeus. Now go. I will give you more time."

I didn't need telling again and I hurled myself over the edge of the cliff and scrambled down the edge until I reached a steeper point that required real climbing. My feet were bleeding along with my fingers, but I was already gone. Even if I saw him coming I could drop to oblivion. Death on my own terms or freedom. The only part I feared was crossing the field, but I still had the knife, perhaps I could be fast enough to keep Zeus from dragging me back.

By the time I was down the mountainside my skin, nearly every inch of it was raw. I bled steadily from my feet, and blood still dripped down my thighs, but I could not pause to tear cloth from my dress to wrap them. Fear blossomed though me and the second my feet touched the ground I sprinted, not caring that I was so tired I felt moments from death or that my limbs ached. I could not go back. I could not go back. Death was better than that place.

The field was long and filled with flowers dappled in sunshine. But it provided no cover and the sun beamed on my back. I feared Apollo could see me. I should have. I ran, leaving bloody tracks in the field. A hundred yards from the bank of the water, I didn't quite know what it was yet, but it looked perhaps like a sea, lightning crackled inches from my ear, striking down near my feet and blackening the grass. I sobbed and looked over my shoulder, Zeus, in his chariot was coming down the mountain, his flying horses galloping across the air to me. I was not going to make it to the water. I stumbled on, tears escaping. I was going to go back. I could not I could not. I pulled the knife from where I had tethered it against my leg and thought that this black end was better than Olympus.

The thunder that quaked from his horses hooves echoed through the field and overtook my perception. The knife began to bite my flesh. I wondered how fast I could make myself bleed out. Did I have enough time? Then the ground opened. Triumphal black horses erupted from the chasm, pulling behind them a dark and smoking chariot. A man in sleek black armor stood, wide stanced in the chariot's bed. The horses charged around me and, standing between me and Zeus. They slowed to a stop and I was scooped up into its safety, shaking and hardly able to stand I fell into the chariot and clung. The horses snorted and stamped. The chariot turned, returning into its black rift. Zeus' lighting striking around them, his furious yell echoing.

The rift closed behind the chariot but it did not stop until we were at the palace. I didn't speak. I could smell him through his new armor. Crowley. He had come. Crowley, my Crowley. I could not see his face but it was my Crowley. Unable to stand I clung to his legs.

The chariot slowed and stopped and its rider lifted me, only then did I feel how much I hurt and carried me up the palace steps and through its corridors. The bedroom door opened of its own accord, and closed behind us. He set me down softly on the edge of the bed and took off his helm. It was my Crowley. I looked at him and he touched my hair and I shattered. I released a horrible sob and my whole body shook. He took almost no time releasing himself from the rest of his armor and he pulled me against him.

I pressed my face into his shirt and wailed desperately, "I can't go back. I can't. I can't .I can't" I could not believe I was safe in Hell. Could not believe he was really here. Could Zeus do this? Was this sort of trick within his power? I continued my sobbing mantra, "I can't go back. I can't go back."

He pet my torn hair and held me firmly, "You don't have to, kitten. I've got you. We're home. You don't have to go back. You never have to go back." He seemed surprise. Perhaps he had expected me to return as I was. Did he expect me to slug him in the arm and give him a perfunctory thank you?

I crushed myself to him, "Don't leave. You're here. You're here. Crowley, my Crowley. Don't leave. I don't want to go back. I can't go back. Don't leave."

His grip tightened and I could hear his heart pounding in his chest, the most soothing sound the world had ever made. He kissed the top of my head and I breathed what he smelled like. It was sulfuric and spicy and entirely different from Zeus ozonic smell. I breathed in all of it and listened to his heart.

"I have you, Bobs," he murmured in my hair. "I'm not going to leave."

He held me for a long time then softly, he extricated himself from me and began to bandage my hands and feet. His fingers stealing moments to touch my knuckles tenderly. I reveled in the touch that didn't wound. When their blood flow was suitably staunched he looked at me carefully and touched my hair, "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

The tears almost started again, my throat was painful and my lips trebled. I nodded. I freed myself from Aphrodite's perfumed dress. The bruises across my body stood out boldly like tattoos, purple and black on my pale skin. I His hands were so strong that he left marks shaped like them where he gripped. I almost hyperventilated, seeing those handprints that hadn't left, as though I could be seized again and taken back at Zeus whim. Long and old blood crusted across my legs. Zeus' handprints on my hips and around my shoulders, across my clavicle. Down my thighs.

The smell of sulfur intensified and I looked at Crowley. He shook. His eyes lingered on each of the handprints in turn and his entire body quaked with wrath. His eyes turned a glowing red and smoke curled from his fingers. I had not anticipated how comforting the wrath of hell could be.

He lifted a hand, the smoke wrapping around his fingers and touched one of Zeus' handprints. The smoke, as if brought to life by the contact, darted out and spread across my skin, sinking into it. It burned as warmly as Hell. He laid his entire hand over the print and my flesh devoured the hell smoke. He lifted his hand and the print was washed away. I cried out in relief.

He did this to each of the wounds until my body was whole and, eyes still red, he wetted a rag and washed me clean of the blood and dirt and sweat. I had not realized until I was clean that I too had smelled like Zeus. Then, with more delicate care than I could have dreamed lived within him, he wrapped me in a shirt he must have saved from the old days. A dark button down that smelled like cigars and Scotch.

For the first time since the battle, clean and unmarred, tucked warmly into clothes that radiated Crowley's smell, he sat against the headboard and pulled me to him, I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my ear to his chest.

"I was besieging Olympus, for you, Bobby," he said, "I did not abandon you. I never abandoned you."

I slept.

**AN: So that got dark. Hope you guys…enjoyed it?**


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25: Sugar and Spice**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

I awoke to a reverberating smashing. I leapt to my feet, scrabbling for a weapon, sure that it was Zeus, coming to take me back. The door was broken down, the guards outside of it looked hopelessly flabbergasted. I shouted in rage and horror. I could not go back. I could not.

Little Gabriel stood in my threshold.

I dropped Apollo's knife, the closest blade and hand, and ran to him. My angry terror slipped out of me and I scooped him up and crushed him to my body.

"Gabey, you're okay."I said into his hair. I had almost forgotten he had been on the battle field. My little Gabriel might have been captured as readily as I had. He smelled like sugar.

He gripped me back just as hard as I gripped him. "Sephy! You're back. Did you get out? Did Hades save you? What happened? Did you kill Zeus?" his myriad questions continued in his regular breathless flurry, almost impossible to understand as he buried his face against my shoulder.

I didn't answer his questions, I just hugged him, rocking him back and forth, and kissing his hair. "Why were you out on the battle field? I was so worried about you, did you get hurt?" I turned and barked shriekilly at Crowley, "How could you let him onto the battle field?"

He flapped his wings and it wrenched him into the air at my eye level but out of my arms, "I'm ok, Seph, I had armor, did you see it?"

Crowley was also standing now, much more coolly that I was. "If you don't mind I would like you to focus on my dashing rescue rather than my oversight of the boy's whereabouts."

I pushed Gabe's amber hair behind his ears, it was getting so long, "Yeah, Gabe, I saw your armor. I'm glad you're okay. I'm okay too." But he gave me a sad half smile and I thought he knew that I wasn't telling the truth.

Crowley came up behind me and put a hand against the small of my back. There was a time I might have hated that, but I moved minutely closer to him. He radiated more heat than he should, I could feel it across the distance between us, why hadn't I noticed that before?

I looked over at him, "You rescue was quite dashing. I didn't think you'd look good in armor."

He looked at me with unrestrained malevolence, "I look good in everything."

Gabriel didn't have any time for this sort of talk, "So you saved her? Did you ride through Olympus like a hero?"

"She escaped all on her own, Gabriel, I was just there to give her a ride home." I appreciated his levity.

Crowley looked at me and added, "He has been very worried."

Gabe looked up at me with a deeply furrowed brow, "Put on pants, we have things to do."'

I laughed, "You broke my door." Laughing was liberating.

He looked momentarily put out then brightened in excitement, "Watch, Seph, watch, watch" he narrowed his eyes in concentration and lifted his hand. He stuck his tongue out between his teeth and snapped his fingers. The door fitted itself back on its frame and Gabriel beamed at me, a smile spreading across his entire face.

Crowley reached out and ruffled his hair. God, they were so sweet and lovely and undamaging. I couldn't stop it, my little family was on display before me and a wall and a league of hounds and the infinite pits of Hell stood between me and Zeus and Gabriel was trying so hard to make me proud and contented and Crowley had his hand safely on my back and he was ruffling Gabriel's hair and had taught him to snap his fingers like that I started to cry. Zeus could not craft this, his was a more brutal cruelty, he didn't understand Gabriel's bewildering unpredictability and gorgeous little smiles. He did not know Crowley's narrow brand of paternalism. The boys in front of me were not a trick I would wake up from to Zeus leering smile. That was my little Gabe, fixing doors. It was a devastating thing.

A sob cut through me and I doubled over. Entirely overwhelmed. Crowley and Gabriel both turned their attention to me, moving forward, identical expressions of uncomprehension on their faces. This made it worse. I didn't want them to be worried. I wanted them to continue to watch them. Crowley was going to give Gabriel's playfulness a vindictive edge and I wanted to see it. I didn't want them worried over me. I forced my face into a facsimile of neutrality and stood rigid. "I'm okay..I'm…fine."

Crowley raised his eyebrow and his mouth twisted up in incredulity, "Clearly. The very image of contentment."

"I," I started breathlessly, "Can I…can we eat or something?"

"Gabe," he said, distractedly, eyes travelling diagnostically over me, "Go get her something to eat."

Gabe nodded, looking at Crowley, lost. "OK," he said and fled through the door.

The door shut behind Gabe and Crowley tipped my head back to look at me, "Bobby."

I seized his hand and pressed it against my face and smelled him, god he was warm. "It's you right? This is you? You aren't even some trick. I'm really here."

He looked vaguely insulted, "You think that _Zeus_ the thick skulled colossus could replicate me? Or more significantly, you think that Zeus who is, for all his myriad faults, relatively sane, could possibly start to mock up a passable Gabriel?"

I dropped my forehead against his shoulder. "No. No. No. It's you. It's really you."

"Yes," he said, hand curling up into my hair, "It's really me, how did you ever get so lucky."

In a softy and sad voice, I murmured into his shoulder, "I like to think it's a combination of indomitable charm and impossible good looks."

"You must have hurt your head on the climb down Olympus."

I smiled at him, "Maybe you'll be able to keep up with me now."

I stepped forward and tucked myself against him and smelled. This many years later and so far removed, god I remember the way he smelled. Because he always smelled the same. Sometimes there was sweat or smoke or dog stink mixed along with it, but it was always the same. Not even particularly pleasant, mostly sulfuric. But always the same.

Gabriel came back in shyly, carrying tray burdened down with only desserts. Crowley took it from him and set it on the foot of the bed.

"Come on, kid," I said and lifted him, swinging him around and letting him go so he flew through the air toward the bed. His wings expanded in a feathery flurry and he landed softly, I crawled up next to him and pulled the tray across our laps. Crowley flicked his wrist and closed the door, sliding onto the bed on my other side. Crowley reached out his hand for a fork but Gabe grabbed a chunk of cake and shoved it messily into his mouth.

"Gabriel." Crowley said sharply, "Is that any way to – "

I cut him off, "He's right, Gabey Baby," I said, and lifted a much larger chunk from the tray with my hand, "You and I both know you can do better." And I smooshed it messily onto his face. He threw his head back and giggled, scooping up more dessert and assaulting me with it. I retaliated by ticking his sides without mercy, which sent him into dessert spilling fits. I pulled gently at the tips of his wings which I knew would get him and he thrashed in snorting laughter. He snorted when he laughed.

When we were finished we were covered in dessert, sticky and disheveled. He stood in the center of the room, wings poofy from a recently concluded mock chase, shirt entirely covered in frosting, hair crunchy with sprinkles, cake still stuck to his face. Only Crowley, who apparently was not going to join our dessert battle, was anything close to clean. Although one of Gabriel's allegedly misfired throws had smeared frosting up the right side of his face and into his hair.

My shoulders sank and I shook my head at the sticky angel, "My Gabey Baby."

He wrinkled his nose, "Stop calling me that. I'm not a baby."

I scooped him up and hugged him crushingly, nuzzling his frostinged hair, "Oh, Gabey, I will _never _stop calling you that."

He wiggled some to free his wings and wrapped them around me.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

I wanted to be okay after that. I wanted sugar coated bonding with my pint sized angel to fix me up. But I woke feverish. I had started sleeping. I slept every night for so many nights, head tucked beside Crowley and always woke trembling.

It had been so long and I couldn't think or breathe. I was hyperaware and blurred at the same time. I awoke as I always did, shaking and afraid. I rose and fled to the adjoining bathroom. Before Crowley could ask me if I was alright because I wanted to be alright and I _was not alright. _ I shut the door behind me and looked into the mirror. My lengthening hair was brittle at the end and _god_ I could hardly look at it for remembering Zeus pulling me by it to the marble floor. I shuddered and tried so hard to brush it and make it shine again. The snags in it tore at my scalp and I thought I was going to throw up.

I pulled a knife I had not removed to sleep from my belt and seized a clump of my betraying hair. I cut through it at the scalp. I carried on like this, hacking and gasping. My scalp was bleeding and I was so tired and my hair was only halfway destroyed. There was still so much that I could be grabbed by. I dropped the knife loudly into the sink and gripped its edges, sobs thundering in my shoulders and chest.

The door opened and Crowley was leaning in its frame, "Something amiss?" he stopped talking, looking slowly over me, eyes red rimmed and staring at him, body curled over the sink. Hair half shorn off, blood dripping down around my ears.

He rolled his eyes, "You're an idiot."

"What?" I gasped at him. Terror was still prominent in my blood. I could have struck him.

He repeated himself and lifted the knife from the sink, "You're an idiot." He took a lock of my hair firmly, "You have to cut it short before you can shave it off." He sliced it short and continued on across the rest of my still long hair. Then he put the knife down briefly to take something out of one of his drawers I had never had reason to explore and spread an oil across my scalp before running the knife back across my head, shearing my hair off entirely without the ripping and bleeding I had inflicted.

I touched my cold head. I looked like a victim of some cruel disease, scabbing cuts marring half of my head, the other expertly shaved and smooth. God I was a mess. I was bleeding and shaking, and my eyes wouldn't lose that wild quality and Crowley was so still, considering me and tapping the knife against his crossed arms. I had been a queen once, hadn't I? Hadn't I stood before an adoring crowd, crowned and sure? Hadn't I led an army in gleaming armor and glittering spear? Hadn't I sat in a throne beside a King in cool reserve?

I felt used and irreparably broken. How had I once held my body so still?

I pushed passed him back into the room. Wasn't Hell filled with people who could at least decorate the throne better than I could? Who would not be such a hapless and damaged thing?

Zeus had ruined me and I wasn't going to be put back together.

I snarled and kicked rabidly at a twisting bed post and it cracked, falling irresolutely onto the unmade bed. I picked it up, regretful that I had broken it. I tried hopelessly to fit it back onto the bed, slamming the broken pieces together again and again.

Crowley stayed my hand and gently unwrapped my fingers from the post. He was still so damned calm. I shrieked and pushed him away from me.

"CAN'T YOU FIND SOMEONE ELSE?!" I screamed at him in desperation.

He curled his mouth down and glared at me, "What?"

I shouted, pushing him again, "Can't you find someone WORTH HAVING!?" my voice was breaking in angry sobs.

He approached me slowly and held out a sure hand, "Bobby Winchester," he said in a voice so damn smooth.

I turned away, arms wide and screamed, falling in on myself, clutching my face and growling. "STOP IT!"

He sounded exhausted, "Stop what, Bobby?"

I flailed back at him and shoved him again, making him keep his distance, "HOW ARE YOU SO GOD DAMN CALM!?" I hadn't thought my voice could be so high pitched.

His shoulders stiffened and his mouth jarred into a jagged sneer, "YOU THINK I AM CALM?" he roared. He raised the bed post, still in his hands and brought it down on the bedstand. It shattered into shards of varnished wood. His chest rose and fell harshly, his eyes blazing red, that smoke curling from his shoulders. "I AM LIVID!" he screamed into my face, "I AM FURIOUS! I HAVE NEVER FELT SO MUCH _WRATH_." As he shouted wrath he swung the bedpost again, it crashed into a wall, leaving a destructive hole. "I WANT TO TEAR ZEUS INTO ATOMS AND I WANT TO HAVE BEEN ON THAT BATTLEFIELD TO KEEP YOU IN HELL AND I WANT TO FIX YOU AND I CAN'T DO ANYTHING."

I kicked out again and splintered a second bedpost off its frame. I hefted it, weighing it for a moment in my hands before bringing it down on my vanity. The wooden vanity collapsed under my assault and the delicate bottles and jars atop it shattered, spilling their liquid across the carpet.

I snarled and smashed my bedpost again and behind me Crowley snarled too. We laid waste. We snarled and hooted and smashed until the room was in tatters around us and we were both out of breath, him quite a bit more than me.

He collapsed on the floor and I fell down beside him, laying on the floor next to him. I looked over at him and he half opened his mouth and I could nearly see a long and snarky monologue brewing. He closed his mouth and wrenched me by the shoulder until I was laying across his chest, listening to his heart thud hard in his chest.

It thudded like it had when we were the last people left on earth.

**AN: Thank you my beautiful and dedicated readers! I have reached 100 reviews (which I think is pretty cool.) So thank you guys. You're the hella finest.**


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

It was weeks after that, perhaps a month. It was hard to tell how time went in the Underworld. My hair was beginning to poke out of my scalp but it was still too short or me to do anything with. The war was still on with Zeus. This troubled me a great deal. It was no longer at our doorstep, in fact, the siege Crowley had laid while I had been a prisoner had remained. It was harder to besiege gods than men, however. They, for one thing, could fly. They also did not starve.

For a week I had hardly left the bedroom. I slept for too many hours or paced in circles in my pajamas. It wasn't specifically that I didn't _want _to pull myself together. But I got to the door and I just lost all my energy and my body just shook. It didn't take kindly to my commands to clean myself up and at least haunt the rest of the palace. I stalked around and around in circles. Pacing through the piles of clothing on the floor. I alternated between vivid fantasies of tearing pieces of Zeus' skin off until enough of his ichor dripped onto the floor for even him to die, and empty minded staring. My brain fogged over and I stood in enervated stillness.

I stood, greasy pajamas hanging off of my now slimming frame, staring absently at the wall. Crowley was moving behind me. He was saying something.

"Go and do something, Bobs," it seemed to take a long time between when I heard that he was talking and when I could make any sense of it. Even longer before I could think of anything to say and get my mouth to cooperate with speech.

"Yeah. I'll…train…today…I need new armor….I lost it…I suppose I should have armor." The stabbing jagged pain I had started with was scabbed over and it had left nothing in its wake.

He sloughed off his old clothes and draped himself in something. I thought he was looking at me. He didn't say anything else, but he left. I was relieved.

I was sort of absently wandering around the room. I hadn't washed myself in days. I could smell my skin. How did Crowley stand it? I began morosely picking up my reeking clothes. If anything I could at least not make him live in squalor. I lifted a muss of them to move them into a pile and heard papers crunch. I furrowed my brow and knelt down. It seemed like Crowley's clothing was amongst the pile too. A crumpled paper with many scratchings out was stuffed in a pocket. picked it up, and peered through my haze at it. Battle plans, it looked like. I sat on the ground and traced my fingers over the battle lines, interested in how the forces of Hell were going to line up against the Olympiad.

It took me a long time to decipher what had once been a language I took to. When the black ink had fought its way through my muddled mess my heart fell through my stomach and blood rushed behind my ears. This was…the worst plan I had ever seen. This was suicide. Tantamount to surrender. I didn't think that Hell could recover from the disaster that would follow trying to use this poor excuse for a strategy. My mind sharpened aggressively. Crowley wasn't this stupid. Was Crowley this stupid? I had never seen him make battle plans. Maybe he was terrible at it. Perhaps he was giving up. He couldn't give up. Something had to be done. I had to…I had to do something. My heart was pounding so roughly in my chest that I felt light headed.

In a rush I started toward the door. I was in the process of flinging it open to rush to the War Room and plead with him to reconsider when I stopped myself. I was going to have to be careful with this. Crowley wasn't particularly appreciative of criticism when he thought he was being clever. And he certainly would have nothing good to say about me turning up to the war room smelling like weeks' worth of sweat. I was going to have to have some presentation. Besides, I had never _pleaded with Crowley_, and I wasn't about to start. He was a King, he had plenty of people to plead with him. He had one to flick him in the ear and tell him he was being an incompetent tadpole with a plan that could have been thought up by a baby angel.

I stood perfectly still by the door for a moment and slowly turned from it, walking resolutely into the washroom. Zeus be damned. I ran myself a frighteningly hot bath and lowered myself into it gingerly. It felt good, to have a purpose. To be so carefully preparing for something. To be moving on my own volition. The shadow of being crushingly immobile hovered above me but I was a _Winchester_. And Hell needed to be saved. I scraped away all the sweat and grime from a week of lolling about and washed my hair, wishing that it were longer, for effect. When I was dried and perfumed I wrapped myself in my most elegant gown. It was ivory and draping, cuffed at the wrists in gold.

I inspected myself harshly in the mirror. With meticulous purpose I bent into better light and painted my face, giving myself dark lines and hard edges. I was beginning to look fierce. My lips twisted up into the first grin I had had in weeks and I lowered my crown onto my head. I looked, again, like the Queen of Hell.

Thus decorated, I stalked from the room, gripping the poorly construed plan fiercely. My heeled shoes clicked imposingly. As I stalked I swept passed my handmaiden, Anydka. She bowed and nodded at me approvingly. The guards stepped demurely out of my way.

I reached the double doors of the War Room, tall and a dark wood. I gripped both of the handles and threw them open so roughly that they smashed against the wall. I waited just a moment before entering, allowing myself to be framed in the threshold.

"Hades." I barked. "What the hell is this?"I slammed the notes down on the broad War Room table and glowered at him.

He looked back at me evenly then beamed. Not his snarky, sly little half smile. He beamed.

"Persephone," he said with relish, a real four syllables, "You look _ravishing._"

He leaned equally across the table, that smile still brightening his face.

I ignored that, "You came up with _this_? This plan is horrible. You're going to get us all killed. I thought you were supposed to be intelligent, didn't people used to think you were a _threat? _How did you even take Hell the first time? Was everybody else on sick leave?"

He cut me off, laughing. It was a laugh I wasn't entirely familiar with from him. Loud and resounding laughter. He looked like he wasn't breathing right. I gaped at him, lost and desperately confused.

"What's – "

He gestured expansively at the table where a large and detailed map was laid out depicting perfectly logical and not at all suicidal attack strategies. I mean, it wasn't by any means inspired, but it wasn't a death trap. I cocked my head.

Gabriel tumbled out of the upper corner of the room where he had been tucked in the unlit shadows, laughing. He held out his hand to Crowley happily and Crowley…high fived him.

"Did you guys…" I said slowly, "…con me?"

They gave me matching grins and said in adorable unison, "Yes."

Gabriel landed heavily on Crowley's shoulders and leaned his elbows on his head. I sighed at shrugged, "Ok, let's get to work."

Crowley, roughly shoved Gabriel off of him and scrunched his face at me, "We have a perfectly fine plan, _milady_." He said sarcastically.

I crossed my arms, "You do, but I'm here now, darling, we don't have to settle for fine."

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

We spent our time after that, primarily, locked away together in the War Room, bickering about strategies and gambits. He was better at the gambits, I far more cunning with the strategies. It worked, mostly. And it was good for me to bicker and argue with him. I no longer woke in the middle of the night plagued in terror. Zeus' grip was loosening.

Still though, I wanted this war to be over. I wanted to concentrate on building Hell. I needed to concentrate on finding a weapon that would kill Hellions. I needed the war to be over. And that is when he arrived.

We were in the War Room, a great, low ceilinged place in the fortified center of the palace with a broad iron table dominating the large part of it. Right now, on the middle of the table, stood a rather large model of Mt. Olympus as well as miniature figurines of armies and gods. We stalked around it, looking at the figurines from every possible angle. Occasionally one of us would voice a thought, usually to be aggressively suppressed by the other voicing an insurmountable opposition to the idea.

"We should move these infantrymen up here." Crowley said in a low voice, reaching forward to reposition them.

I, slung in a chair with my feet splayed widely across the table, made a sound akin to a walrus dying. "That's a good idea," I said harshly, "It would certainly boost morale to watch them be shot to bits."

"It might boost mine to –" his snarl was interrupted by a knock at the door.

He turned to the door to bark at whoever had interrupted his, undoubtedly brilliant retort, but I beat him to it.

"Yes, please do come in," I called sweetly and shot him a triumphant grin.

One of the throne room guards came in, his face a mask of uncertainty, "Milady, milord…there is…someone waiting for you in the throne room." The guards always addressed us, 'milady and milord,' in that order. It irritated Crowley. It was the little things.

"Who?" I asked, a shiver running down my spine. Zeus had been our last visitor.

"Um…I'm not sure?" he said nervously, "No one can remember letting him in…he was just….there."

Crowley rounded on him, "You allowed some unchecked vagabond into OUR THRONE ROOM, YOU MORONIC GHOUL?" He erupted.

I put a hand on his shoulder and took a half step in front of him, between the guard and the raging King, "Lead us to him, Caeus."

The guard, Caeus, nodded a bit gratefully at me and turned sharply, leading us down the hallway toward the throne room. Crowley clicked his fingers and our crowns materialized on our heads. We paused outside the throne room and I reached out and touched the back of his hand briefly before we walked through the high throne room doors.

Standing, _lounging_ really, the most loungingly I had ever seen someone stand, was a nearly beautiful man. I say nearly beautiful. His cheekbones were so high and so severely sharp that they detoured entirely around beautiful and landed very strongly on disconcerting. His eyes were not so much dark as chasms. He had curling dark hair that hung in waves around his face and a self satisfied smile. We approached with caution and I saw, as the man turned and I saw him fully from the front, that he was robed in a perfectly tailored, flawlessly elegant women's gown. Gold studded silken slippers completing the ensemble.

Crowley and I glanced at each other.

The man approached me and gave me a chilling and horrible smile. "Per-seph-ooooh-ne." he crooned, lingereing over each syllable. An odd feeling oozed off of him. Difficult to describe. I reconsidered, not difficult to describe, uncomfortable to describe. _Sexuality._ And wilderness.It fell off of him like a smell, I was nearly surprised that guards weren't falling over each other.

Crowley was not forgotten, the man turned and fixed my King with his daunting gaze, chill via entire lack of warmth, rather than their own coldness. His thin lips twisted into a stomach churning grin, "Hades." He breathed roughly, like a moan.

Crowley looked like he had been made uncomfortable, which to be honest impressed me more than getting unnoticed into the throne room.

"Welcome to the Underworld – " I trailed off at the end, looking at him expectantly.

He smiled at me rapturously but ignored my question, "I have heard the whispers and rumors that you and the witless of Olympus are not particularly fond of each other." He paused there and stepped forward in a languid step, he reached up with a bony and long fingered hand and touched the side of my face reverently, "I am sorry to hear about your mistreatment, _Per-seph-oooh-ne."_

He turned and walked away from me, shoulders swaying as he walked, thin hands held out, "As I'm sure the two of you could have spelled out all on your lonesome, you are not the only person that the son of the Titans has _slighted._ " When he said slighted he darkened and his voice sounded like a forgotten murder.

"No, yeah I mean… he's a pretty big douche." At that, Crowley turned his head and fitted me with an unimpressed stare.

The man spun back around and laughed. This was by far the worst, it was a high and chilling thing to hear. He clicked back over to me and leaned at me, "I could never have said it better." He rumbled.

"As fascinating as you have thus far been," Crowley started roughly, "you don't-"

"How very rude of me," he man said, interrupting him and stepping in far too close for Crowley's comfort, he gave a little bow, "Dionysus, oh Dark King."

"We've got Aphrodite too." I said, cutting in before Crowley could lose his temper.

Dionysus swung around to me, angled eyebrow raised, "What now?"

"In the alliance you were about to propose against Zeus, we've got Aphrodite too, I'm pretty sure."

He chuckled, "You think _I _need an alliance? That I was not coming to offer you a favor?" His voice was dark and sharp.

"Yeah, I think you need an alliance. I think you're not even an Olympian, I think if you're here you hate Zeus enough to want him dead and I think that if you could do it on your own it would be done."

He slithered in front of me and regarded me closely. He blinked his dark eyes next to mine, looking at me oddly. Then he threw his head back and laughed uproariously, "Very good, Queen of Death."

I glanced over at Crowley and I gave him a single scrunch faced look. He blinked in understanding. I walked toward Dionysus, stepping between him and Crowley.

"Di," I said with a broad smile, holding one of my hands out wide and welcoming, "Let's go someplace more comfortable and talk about this."

He smiled at me allowed me to lead him to a room down the hall with low and cushioned couches. I sent a servant after tea and cookies. Dionysus settled himself comfortably in a couch, tucking his legs under him, folding his skirt up with practiced ease.

I sat across from him and grinned, Crowley sat next to me, I glanced at him and he gave me the most minute of nods.

"So, what's your end game, Dionysus? Killing Zeus?" I asked boldly.

He laughed derogatorily, "He can't be killed, sweetling, he is an immortal."

"He can be trapped." Crowley said with authority.

Dionysus raised his spikey eyebrow, "Is all of the Underworld populated by unlettered barbarians or just the palace?"

I looked him straight in the eye and replied, "Just the palace, everyone else is quite competent."

Crowley let his fingers brush my knuckles and settled back, smirking, "I am sure he can be trapped," He glanced at me meaningfully, "An old associate of mine has done it."

I realized he meant my father and an enormous rush of pride blossomed for him. Really, Dad, thanks for that, in Winchesterian parlance, _You're Awesome._

Dionysus shivered theatrically, "I think I am going to enjoy working with you."

"I'm sure you are." Crowley said smoothly.

The servant returned and Dionysus took a cookie happily, "I can find the incantation we need, I have a number of priests who dabble in the magic of binding. It's going to require blood."

"What blood?" I asked.

"The willing blood of a human unthreatened." His thin brow creased, "If it is anything like the incantations that bind other gods. And something of his."

I shrugged, "The blood I can get. I know who to ask."

He munched his cookie, "Then are we agreed? Call me when you have the blood." He rose.

Crowley raised an eyebrow, "Not quite so quick, Dionysus, we still need to discuss repayment."

A darkness settled in his eyes, "Repayment?" he asked coldly.

"There's no reason for us to work with you. We could stop this war now, he can't get into Hell and he knows it and by the howling of a thousand hellhounds, we don't want Olympus. So how will you make it worth our trouble?"

I resisted nudging Crowley uncertainly. It sounded like picking a fight with our only ally, but Hell, this seemed like his thing.

Dionysus spoke next in a rough snarl, "I won't allow you to act as though I am doing you a favor." He said snakilly, "I will repay you NOTHING!"

Vines had begun to crawl down the sides of the room. Crowley, looking bored, snapped his fingers and they lit aflame, curling back. Dionysus looked about stubbornly but a bit less sure.

Crowley shrugged nonchalantly, "If you don't want Hell's assistance, then I believe this meeting has reached its end. Darling," he said, turning to me, "why don't you go find Gabe and we can take a walk in the courtyard before dinner."

I put a staying hand on Crowley's shoulder and gave him tenderly chiding eyes, I turned slightly to Dionysus, "Oh, he meant to disrespect, Dionysus, would you be requiring hospitality? It would be our pleasure to have you as a guest."

His glower broke into a mad grin, "I do like you, my Lady Queen. But I do not need your favors." He rose, licked his fingers clean of cookie and began to leave. I rose and put a hand on his arm, stopping him gently. His skin was scorching to the touch.

"Stay, Dionysus. You have been travelling for a long time." I used my softest voice.

He paused and considered. In a different voice, a voice free of theatrics and pomp, he said, "Its seems as though I have always been travelling."

"You must be very tired." I soothed, "You are welcome here, we will not chase you out, wouldn't it be nice to rest?"

His face was softening, the angles becoming less extreme, "I have not…not in so long…I have not had a….."

I gave him a tender smile and rolled the dice, "Make a home here."

His eyes blinked and wavered, "I wouldn't- "

"You would not be the first to come here for sanctuary. You are welcome as long as you wish."

He looked back and forth between me and the door, "The boy he spoke of, Gabriel…he is your son?"

I allowed my face to melt, "A young angel out of Jerusalem."

He straightened and looked down his incredibly thin nose at me, "I require sanctuary."

I patted his shoulder, "Dinner is in an hour," then I sashayed out of the room, followed closely by Crowley. I turned to one of the servants waiting outside the door, "Show Dionysus to a room, would you?" Then Crowley and I walked silently and in step to the relative safety of our room.

The door clicked closed and I turned to him, already laughing.

I mimicked his gravely, accented voice, "We need to talk about repayment, fuck your vines, you owe us."

He replied in a high pitched screech dripping in fake sweetness, "You look so lost and lonely, do you need a new HellMother?"

We dissolved into laughter, then he looked at me with fondness, "This ruling Hell business is quite a bit more fun with you."

I took his collar gently in my hands and, for the first time since I had been captured by Zeus, kissed him softly. He wrapped his hands around my waist securely. I leaned my forehead against his and nuzzled him, "Of course it is, you dolt, I'm a delight."

**AN: Sorry that took so LONG. To be honest it took me forever to get Dionysus right. I did my undergraduate thesis on him and I felt like I was!letting him down if I didn't nail it. So sorry about the wait, I was under self induced duress. Let me know what you thought of him! AND EVERYTHING ELSE!**


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

Dionysus stuck around the palace and he was….an odd guest. Crowley didn't like him. No one really liked him. The guest room he had been lodged in was now entirely covered with ivy that had begun to creep out of the windows. Before our acquaintance I had had the idea that talking to Dionysus would be something like talking to a perpetually almost drunk frat boy. Irritating, potentially a little dangerous, but mostly good time would be had by all. I can't make it clear enough how inaccurate that is. Talking to Dionysus is like brushing the teeth of a rugaru tiger unarmed wearing a blindfold. And he was living in our palace. I had issued a guard to Gabriel but not only did Gabriel find endless joy in slipping him it was sort of like asking a kitten to guard radioactive cougar from falling prey to a _rugaru tiger_.

Dionysus had an odd effect on a person. I was entirely convinced he could control it, an entirely convinced he would refuse to control it. If he were to suddenly come up behind you, as he frequently did, walking like a shadow in his little silk slippers, you would get a creeping itch in the back of your brain. As he got closer your mind would fall prey to the simultaneous assault of overwhelmingly destructive sexual fantasies coming with almost as much ferocity as their companion blood soaked fantasies of horrific violence.

A few days after Dionysus had come to stay, I was with Gabriel, standing next to a broken window trying to tenderly pull shards of glass out of his wings before they could hurt him, when he elbowed me in the thigh.

"What?" I said, maneuvering his topmost feathers back into place.

He whispered back, "What's Hades doing?"

I looked up, Crowley was standing at the end of the hall, stopped nearly midstep. I tilted my head in confusion. I watched him blink and glance around, looking distinctly uncomfortable. He wriggled his body like he was trying to shake off bugs and shook his head. I felt the wriggling at the base of my skull I had become a bit too familiar with and frowned. As expected Dionysus shimmered around the corner smiling his unsettled smile.

He touched Crowley on the small of the back as he passed and murmured to him in a voice that was too quiet for me to hear. The corners of Crowley's mouth turned down and Dionysus swung passed him, hips swaying. I finished fixing Gabe's wings and directed him away from Dionysus, up the hallway.

"Go Gabe, run off, try not to break another window."

Unhappily Gabriel allowed himself to be dismissed and scampered off. Much more unhappily I turned and marched back up the hallway, stalking toward Dionysus. As I approached I was taken aback by the rather vivid image of slamming Crowley against a wall and biting him so hard his blood filled my mouth. That was superimposed over the much more terrible fantasy of goring Zeus with my fist and devouring his flesh raw like a wolf. I was overwhelmed by the dizzying array of blood my brain was creating.

"DIONYSUS" I roared. It sounded much more desperate that I had been intending. But he stopped and regarded me.

Blood now pumping much harder than it had been I took a deep, steadying breath. I shivered. From down the hall I could _smell_ Crowley. And hellfire he smelled _edible_. I couldn't focus on Dionysus and took a shuddering step toward Crowley, who was, in his turn, looking at me with eye burning intensity. I had not been the recipient of that kind of stare, it burnt my skin apart and set me ablaze.

I bit my tongue harshly and twisted back to Dionysus, trying to ignore Crowley advancing on me like a Hellhound.

"Dionysus, if you would like to continue to be welcome here, _stop this._"

He tilted his head and furrowed his brow deeply. "You would throw me out?"

"I am not throwing you out, I'm telling you how you can get yourself thrown out and you are deciding to have to leave."

The urges stopped and Crowley's irresistible scent decreased somewhat. I straightened my shirt and nodded at Dionysus, "Thank you. Now, if you would like to continue to be our guest, please do not spread your madness, this is to be a refuge to all, not just you."

He looked compliant, if a little put out. He pushed his hands deep into his pocket, sighed at the ceiling and trailed off, pouting.

I waited until the sound of his steps had entirely faded before I rounded on Crowley, who was regarding me with a raised eyebrow.

"Come on." I said, taking him by the wrist.

"I do have actual duties as a King of Hell, darling."

I looked back at him darkly, "God of Madness or not, if you stalk toward me looking at me like you did, there are other kingly duties you're going to have to prioritize."

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

There was a plan that I had been working on. More of an idea really. But it had begun to require a bit more planning than I had anticipated. I had spent most of the last week tucked away in Hades' and my office, lounging on a couch we had put across the back wall, reading and making notes on a hand drawn map. After this relentless work, I was closing in on the end of it, which, of course, was the beginning of the actual work. But the actual work was adventure, which pleased me.

Finishing with my notations with a relish, I rolled up my map and leaned my head back, looking up at Crowley, on whose shoulder I had been leaning. "I'm going to be gone for a few days."

He glared down at me, "You're leaving me alone with the drunk cross dresser?"

I grinned, "Are you mad because you think he looks better in a dress than you would?"

"He is slowly choking the palace with ivy, he can drive people mad – "

I booped him on the nose, "Because he doesn't. I bet you'd look great in a dress. It would really accent your hips."

He flicked me on the forehead, I laughed, "You can't take me with you wherever you're going?"

"Who would watch Gabe…or you know….hell?"

"You know, we could choose a lieutenant. One of your Captains maybe, you seem to trust them."

I stayed silent, considering, it would be nice to take him along. To be entirely honest, I missed roaming the earth with him. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the palace and ruling Hell had its perks, but I sort of missed watching sunsets over ten year old canned food. I was excited for my adventure topside and Crowley did nothing I not make adventures more adventurous.

My responsibility reared its head, "We're in the middle of a war. Stay here and try to keep our armies alive, I'm going to go alone." I curled myself up and rolled to my feet.

He tilted his head up at me and raised one sarcastic eyebrow, "So I'll stay here rallying troops and you'll go and try to sell mortals on a dangerous and ultimately deadly sacrifice for the sake of vengeance? That sounds like an excellent allocation of skills."

I rolled my eyes, "You think you'd be better at selling them on the idea?"

He stared at me then deadpanned, "Yes. Yes, Bobby. That is what I do."

I furrowed my brow, confused then laughed, "Oh yeah! You used to be a crossroad's demon. I forgot. I mean, when I met you, you were so useless I forget that you were somebody before you met me."

He gritted his teeth. My laughter intensified, "You really want to attack me don't you?"

He muttered under his breath, "The thought had crossed my mind."

I leaned down within his reach and grinned, "You know I'd win right? If you attacked me?"

"Go get ready for your trip."

"Go get ready for my trip he says." I laughed.

He looked up and snarled, "You know if I waged a war against you and aligned all of my resources against your petty martial skill I could have you entirely ripped to pieces!"

I pinched my lips together, trying mostly in vain to quell my laughing, "Well….yeah."

He looked taken aback and warily gratified.

I swooped down and kissed him, "You think I spend afternoons planning covert operations curled up with _useless _people? I'm insulted." I turned on my heel and walked out the door, looking back over my shoulder for a final comment, "I'm going to go get ready for my trip."

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

Travelling in the ancient world required a chariot. Travelling the ancient world as the Queen of Hell required an impressive chariot. Travelling the ancient world as the daughter of Dean Winchester required a _cool_ chariot. I had spent an impractical amount of time drawing up specs for it and explaining to my engineers _exactly_ how I wanted it to look.

I had found my engineer, Xedualus, more than willing to try to make exactly what I had in mind. He had died relatively young and maintained a bulky, youthful appearance, hair and eyes a black that matched the stains that usually dyed his hands to the elbow.

I had told him to interrupt anything I was doing to tell me the moment that he had finished my new baby. We were having dinner, as it happened. Dionysus was not yet eating with us, but Gabe, Crowley and I were at our private table, Crowley scooted over toward Gabe, teaching him to properly snap his fingers.

"Don't use your third finger, you eggshell," he reprimanded.

The door crashed open and Crowley snarled at Xed, standing, breathing hard, in the doorway.

"I um- I mean..uh- Sorry for the interruption" he said, quailing under Crowley's sneer.

I leapt up, grinning, "Never mind, is it done?"

He beamed at me, "It's done, Per-" he glanced at Crowley, "um...my lady...uh..Queen..my lady Queen."

"Persephone is fine," I dismissed, Crowley glaring at me, "Take me to it!"

I rushed around the table and followed him, ignoring Crowley's protests. Crowley, as I passed him grabbed me roughly by the wrist, I looked down at him irritably. "What?"

He smirked at me, "I have a gift for you to outfit you for your adventure, I'll have it brougt down to you."

Genuinely uninterested in Crowley's gift with the promise of my chariot before me, I nodded vaguely and charged off with Xed, hurrying with him to the base of a tower where his workshop was situated. We pounded through the double doors into the light flooded metal shop. And there he was. Standing there in a patch of light just _gleaming_.

A shining black, he was low and broad, with heavy lines and beautiful curves, silver grating covering the bottom half of the front. Curling silver lettering across the left side read, '_Baby_.' I ran my hand against it and grinned back at Xed.

"This is great, Xed, perfect." I continued circling it, I stopped at the harnesses at the front and touched them, my smile shifting a little, "Xed, isn't this a little small for horses?" I asked unsurely, not having much experience in horses.

He blushed and ruffled his hair on the back of his head with his big blackened hands. "Oh..um...yeah...that was just this idea that I had um..I mean...I can fix them if you don't like it….." He was blinking a lot, shifting his weight back and forth.

"Ok, what?"

"OH!" He said, jumping then hurrying across the room, "Well, my la- uh… sorry...um.. Pers-Persephone."

I wasn't entirely sure if he had a stutter or if he was just always nervous, I let him work out communicating.

"Well..Pers-Persephone.. I um….I made them for uh…" he stopped talking and pulled open heavy metal doors separating the workshop from Hell outside. On command crept in an enormous two headed hound, black smoke crawling from its skin, growls issuing from deep in its vicious throat.

"You made me a...hellhound chariot?" I asked.

"Um...yeah...I uh...I can change it..I just...you see they're quicker...and um….they fight better...and their agile and uh…sorry."

I laughed, "This is PERFECT, Xed," I nearly shouted, "What's her name?"

"Him..I mean..he..he doesn't have a name," he said, managing almost a full sentence, "I mean..um...I thought that you could name him." He was running his hand through his hair again and looked quite a bit like a giant puppy himself.

I offered my hand to the hellhound who sniffed me then immediately began to nuzzle my hand, I grinned and pet his left head, he pushed it against my hand roughly while the other head snapped, trying to get a better position to receive attention. I led him over to the chariot and Xed helped me strap him in. His long, floppy tail wagged aggressively, just too short to hit me while I was in the chariot. Both his head turned in opposite directions to regard me, I grinned, stepping up onto the chariot and looking about for the reins.

"Uh..Xed, where are the reins?"

He beamed, "Oh, oh thats the best part, um..see so horses need them but hellhounds respond to um...verbal commands and are smarter than horses so um...you can have your hands free to shoot and stuff...so you don't need a chariot driver. You can just...go on your own...I thought you'd like that."

I stared at him, "Yeah...yeah, Xed...that's...really thoughtful...thanks." I was still staring at him, smiling tenderly, him blushing and grinning back when there was a knock.

I turned, Crowley was leaning in the doorway, package under his arm, eyes narrowed.

"I have a gift for you, _Persephone._" He said darkly. He stepped quickly toward us, stopping when he stood between Xed and I, holding out his bundle. "I had it made for you. To go with this monstrosity."

I smiled at him and opened it, it strapped itself around me cunningly, clicking into place. It was, to my delight, a new set of armor to replace the one I had lost. This one though, was a beauty. I glowed a dull burnished bronze the cape a heavy dark brown leather. The gauntlets extended down my fingers without coming underneath them, giving me flexibility, and etched across the breastplate in an simple and straightforward design that would, of course, but illegible to anyone who had not spent time in modern America, was a bold, 'W.'

I blinked at him, and grinned, "Thanks, Crow," I murmured softly.

He nodded, "Go. Go alone. You should."

My smiled widened, "You don't think it will be too dangerous alone."

"If Zeus tries to kidnap you a second time, I would like you to send me an invitation to the funeral."

"Take care of Gabe."

"I was going to let Dionysus babysit."

"For real, take care of Gabe, I know you like him."

"Get out of here." He said, "But name that bloody hound first."

I regarded my new hound, who was craning backwards to look at me, both his tongues lolling out of his heads, "Bones."

Crowley stared at me, "You get a ravenous and ferocious creature capable of hauling back to souls of the damned and you name him Bones, are you an eight year old boy?"

"Let's go, Bones!" I yelled happily. He lurched forward charging through the still open door into hell beyond. It took halfway through Hell for him to get the hang of how he had to move to keep my from nearly tipping out of my chariot, but when he got it we _flew_. He _was_ faster and more agile than a horse, and responded, I thought, more to what I wanted instinctively than any verbal commands.

We rocketed through the gateway to the cheering of the guard, a steady pack of hounds chasing after us, giving me a howling fanfare.

I leaned forward, laughing, my cape flapping behind me, the wind whipping my short, dark hair. I willed open the portal to the World and as we neared it Bones _leapt_. We soared through the air, hitting the portal at full speed. There was a rush of airlessness and we landed on the grassy Earth, which smelled sweet and kind.

**AN: Hey guys! I KNOW RIGHT ITS BEEN FOREVER. I got really stumped on this chapter, but the next should come faster because I actually know what's happening. **

**Again in this chapter, there was a lead up to a bit too racy for a journal your dad will read BUT YOU GUYS AREN'T HER DAD SO IT IS IN: During the Course of Ruling Hell Go Along Porn Activity Book. And if anyone knows how to embed links in this website that would be hella rad to know.**


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28:**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

Ruling Hell was fun. Slogging through dead Earth with Crowley was fun. But careening across an ancient landscape on a hellhound driven chariot was the best time I had ever had. I stopped occasionally to check my maps and reorient myself.

To be perfectly honest, I didn't have all that much experience following a map and it was harder than I had anticipated. I had just followed old road signs and mostly broken highways in my years traveling dead Earth. Or just wherever Crowley wanted to go, he had always seemed to know where he was going. This was completely different, there were almost no roads, definitely no signs and the handdrawn map really only corresponded to the real landmarks eight percent of the time. Mostly it was just Bones trying to chase deer and me trying to get him to calm down.

The frustrations aside though, I got to spend my afternoons napping against a snoozing Bones, his warm furred chest moving rhythmically. I had missed napping in the sunshine. Hell had sort of a general lighting, not that direct warm sunspots you get on Earth. I had, though, resigned myself to the idea that I would have to _ask someone_ where I was supposed to be going. And then find a way to make them immortal and hide them in a cave because I Crowley _could not find out_ that I didn't know how to read a map.

"What'dyou think, Bones," I said, ruffling his right head and giving him a kiss. He reciprocated aggressively nuzzling my face and covering it in Hellslober, "should we take one more nap then find a town and ask where we are supposed to be going?"

He had learned the word 'nap' and obediently curled up, whapping his tail happily against the ground while both of his heads panted up at me. I dropped to the ground and nuzzled inside the curl of his body. He was almost twice my size and made a very cozy cushion. The sun beat down on my eyelids and I shivered, the warmth settling into my skin. I reached back to lazily scratch Bones behind the ear. It was easy to remember when I was here under the human sun, that I was made for this world. Crafted for the land of the living under the sun and stars. I could smell the grass, it was not quite like home but it was closer than Hell, which tended to smell too sweet or far too burnt.

I curled up tighter into Bones and let myself drift close to sleep. Bones didn't sleep. He would wake me if there were something I needed to be awake for. That I was prolonging asking someone how to continue in order to keep myself above ground for a bit longer was something I had thought of but refused to really acknowledge. I just liked the sun. Who didn't like the sun?

I was just slipping away when Bones growled deep in his rumbling chest. My eyes flashed open and I slid gracefully into a crouch, spear appearing in my hand. I would not be snuck up on.

There was a patter of noise coming from over the knoll I had been laying beneath. I pointed my spear at it. I lanky and uncoordinated body spilled over it, tripping at its crest and tumbling unceremoniously down toward me in a kerfuffle. I raised an eyebrow at it.

The bundle of knees and elbows looked up from the ground at me, startled. He was a teenager. Older than a teenager perhaps, maybe twenty. Young. His hair was a floppy black tangle and his armor fit his barely muscled body quite poorly, although it looked expensively crafted.

"Oh, who are you?" he asked rather timidly, standing up. He looked even more knobbly on his feet.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he continued reassuringly, "You can put down your husband's spear. I don't want you to hurt yourself."

I did try to keep in mind that he was not being malicious, that this was how he thought giving the time and place of his birth. But still, I thwacked him on the head with the shaft of my spear. I was the Queen of Hell. I thought it within my right to thwack this sort of thing.

"Ow" he shouted, grabbing the top of his head.

"You talk to me like that again and I'll show you how well I can use my spear."

A sharp growl from behind me alerted me to a forthcoming danger and I spun in time to knock the spear butt that was sailing toward me. The bearer of said spear pulled it back expertly and faced off, grinning madly. He was...the most beautiful human I had ever seen. He was barechested and undeniably golden. He grinned a playful grin at me.

"I see the lady has some skill," he laughed.

Considering I had a two headed Hellhound to back me up, I wasn't particularly worried, and thought that I might as well try to spare these two from a vicious end, wherein they would die and….become my subjects.

"Look, kid," I said. He tilted his head in confusion and I remembered that I had to try to speak in Greek. I had been learning.

"Look, kid," I repeated in the correct language, "I don't have any reason to fight you. Put your spear down."

He laughed again and did just that, leaning casually on it, "Is this your chariot? Are you out here alone?"

"Yeah, I am."

He tilted up an eyebrow, "You know it can be dangerous, out here alone for a woman as handsome as you."

I ignored that, "Hey, I'm looking for Argos, any idea which way I should be going?"

The dark hair boy spoke up, "That's… a long way off. Are you going to walk that whole way?"

I scoffed at him, "I have a chariot, its right in front of you."

He furrowed his dark brow, he already looked a bit like a puppy, and the confusion didn't help him, "You um… you don't have a horse. That chariot doesn't even look big enough for a horse."

I considered telling him I had a Hellhound who was at this moment stalking around them, with bared teeth, but I decided to let them keep their dignity. "Don't worry about that, I'm have to get there. I have no idea where it is."

He beautiful blonde had maneuvered until he was right next to his friend and elbowed him, "Come on, Prince Patroclus, this is an adventure. A beautiful matron out here alone on a quest. This is what we've been waiting for!"

I scowled at matron but didn't pursue it, I could use the help.

The dark haired boy, Patroclus, apparently, where had I heard that before, bit his lip, "I don't know...I mean." He scowled at me, "Where is your husband? Why did he let you go alone?"

I wasn't really sure how to answer this. I mean, as far as their custom, I sort of did have a husband. I mean, I didn't think that I would be incredibly successful describing a relationship of a King and Queen of the same place who lived and slept together but weren't married because that seemed a little premature and to be honest what was the fucking point.

"He didn't _let_ me go anywhere, I just went. Ok, I am done discussing my business, do you know where Argos is or not?"

They had brief and vicious conversation via facial expressions, before the blond grinned boldly at me, "Sure, we'll lead you."

He bowed grandly, "Achilles, at your service, my lady."

I very nearly choked, oh...this was...Achilles. I nodded my head back to him, "Persephone."

They gaped, Patroclus took a step back. I smiled, gratified. I had no been enitrely sure that they would recognize the name, I had had even, a bit of a hope that they wouldn't, so I could continue in anonymity. I almost started laughing at that thought: remaining anonymous of my assumed name. For Hell's sake I could have told them my namewas Bobby Winchester and been more anonymous. Bobby Winchester was a creature of a different time. I wondered if she and Persephone were even the same person or if she waited in wings for her time to come back, or if she was dead.

I refocused on the startled men in front of me. "Right, so I'm the Queen of the Dead and if you could just show me how to find Argos that would be perfect." They took a moment to respond and I feel that I should remind you that I am recording what I _thought _I said, but then, I wasn't particularly great at Greek yet and it may have taken them a moment to figure out what I was trying to say.

Achilles beamed at me, his smile was beautiful and infection, I grinned back. "Of course, my Queen." He elbowed Patroclus, "Come on Patroclus, the Queen of the Underworld need the help of two strong warriors."

Patroclus was taking much longer to come to terms with this than Achilles. I reminded myself that Achilles' mother was a goddess, we gods were real and living to him. I imagined that, Achilles' best friend though he might be, the gods probably lived much farther away in the mind of Patroclus.

In slow and deliberate speech, Patroclus said, "Argos is a long way off. It will take a long time. There are many dangers."

It was much easier to follow Patroclus' short and well enunciated sentences and I realized they were for my benefit, I smiled at him. "Are you up for the challenge? You'll be rewarded."

Achilles looked all for tramping off at once, Patroclus looked worried, "I appologize, Queen Persephone. I do not want you to think I am being unhelpful. But I do not wish to anger Hades."

I furrowed my brow, "How would heping me anger lord Hades?"

He fidgeted uncomfortably and I thought that I understood. He didn't expect him to be thrilled two hearty young warriors, although Patroclus' heartiness was up for debate, were alone, travelling with his wife. "It will be fine" I promised, "It's not as though I'm unprotected. Bones, let them know you're here."

Bones growled and shoved one of his heads up against Patroclus, who flinched badly. Achilles dropped into a fighting stance, which Bones quirked his head at. I laughed, "He won't hurt you if you don't hurt me, if you do, he'll drag your souls off the Hades personally. So, should I be on my way or do I have two young guides?" Personally I was rather hoping they would come. I had always doted over stories of Achilles and was tenderly hoping he would teach me how to fight better with a spear.

Think of that, Dad, your little girl trained by Achilles.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

We traveled primarily by foot. The chariot wasn't big enough for three, but we had loaded it full of our equipment and the boys' provisions, I had found I didn't really have to eat if I wasn't inclined. Bones wasn't particularly thrilled with being a pack mule but enough belly rubbing soothed his wounded ego.

Halfway to Argos we had gotten bored, or Achilles had gotten bored. He had myriad skills and virtues, but the ability to keep himself entertained was not among them. He had spent the last hour pestering Patroclus and irritated himself when Patroclus would not rise to his challenge.

Patroclus, himself, had been helping my hone my Greek, holding a slow moving conversation with me and gently correcting my grammar, he really was quite the gentleman. Achilles was walking backwards regarding the two of us unhappily.

Sighing, I picked up my gear from my chariot and handed Patroclus' to him. "Why don't you take Bones and scout ahead, Achilles?"

He looked taken aback, "Really?"

"Yes, just get out of here before you start yourself on fire."

Without hesitation he flipped himself sideways into the chariot, "Will he listen to me?"

I petted Bones on the top of his right head, "Ok, Bones, you listen to what Achilles says for a little while, alright?"

Achilles shrugged and steadied himself on the chariot bed before commanding, "Bones, forward."

As expected, Bones, also bored at keeping at a walking pace, took off in blurring speed. Achilles nearly toppling out, though, as he was Achilles, managing to keep balance, whooping in excitement.

Patroclus watched him go with soft eyes, "He's beautiful isn't he."

He had muttered it quickly and under his breath, I'm not sure I was intended to hear it, I grinned and, although I did try, I didn't hide it quick enough to fool Patroclus.

He went very pink and stammered an explanation.

I shrugged, "He's sort of pretty for my tastes, but I see what you mean."

Desperately Patroclus swayed the conversation away from how attractive he found his friend, "What's Hades like?"

I laughed, "Um, sort of mean?" That had come out harsh but I wasn't sure how to say surly and gruff in Greek, "Um…" I compromised by making an angry bear sort of noise with claws. "But, you know, he's funny." I didn't feel like I was doing a great job and felt more like I had just described the Beast from Beauty and the Beast than any facsimile of Crowley.

Patroclus was looking at me softly, "Are you going to go back?"

"Back to Hell?" I asked with confusion, "Well...yeah…."

His brow knitted together, "Don't you think Zeus would welcome you back?"

At the mention of Zeus my stomach clenched and I felt drenched in cold, I attempted to keep my voice in check but as I spoke it broke, "What the Hell does that mean, welcome me back? Why would I ever go back there?"

He tilted his head in confusion, "You lived there, didn't you, before Hades snatched you from a field? I've heard stories about you, you know, that you were dancing in a field and Hades rose up from the pits to seize you, that Zeus rode down Mount Olympus to rescue you but could not reach you in time. That you were locked in Hades' palace until you succumbed to hunger and ate of the food of death and now you can't leave."

I was breathing hard in a fury, the well sequestered memories of my imprisonment filtering back, "I wasn't" I struggled to breathe, "I was captured by Zeus. I've always been with Hades, we were friends...before...Zeus came to take Hell and I fought him and he took me. He kept me for weeks before I could escape. I was running from him on that field and Hades came to bring me home."

We had stopped walking and he was looking at me with a degree of confusion mixed with his careful softness, "Hades took you back? But...didn't Zeus…." uncomfortably he made a swaying sort of motion with his head.

Deadpanned, forcing my breath into some sort of rhythm I answered, "Yeah, Patroclus, many times. But of course Hades _took me back_. What do you even mean by that, why wouldn't he."

Patroclus now looked petrified and in extreme discomfort, I didn't, however, have much sympathy for him, "Well….." he stammered, "You were…." he seemed to be fishing around for a soft way of saying it, "...tainted by Zeus...I mean...just….most men would have left you with Zeus rather than have you back after that….they would prefer, I mean...men like my father...I mean….would prefer a woman who was...clean."

His discomfort was doing something to calm me, "Hades and I…" I started, without really knowing how to explain it to him, "Hades didn't see it like that, he just wants to kill Zeus. We're...you know…" somehow explaining the nature of our relationship felt almost like betrayal, "We're partners."

A tender smile spread warmly over Patroclus' face, he looked like such a kid, "He must really love you."

I squirmed, perhaps more uncomfortable with this than discussion my attack, I hedged for a few moments, glancing around in hopes that Achilles would reappear and distract him. He did not. Crowley and I did not really have an openly emotive relationship. We had never even solidly discussed what the terms of our relationship were. If I looked at how often he had risked his life for mine, or come back when he didn't have to, I guessed that history was in favor of him having real affection for me, but he wasn't going to go around announcing it.

I scratched the back of my head uncomfortably, "I guess."

Patroclus looked mystified, "You guess?" he gazed at me, his eyes all glimmery, "If my mother were...taken as you were, my father wouldn't hesitate, he would have her killed, at least dismissed. For Hades to overlook that-"

I frowned and cursed, in English, so Patroclus just tilted his head in confusion, "I lead the armies of the dead, I train them, I plan battles, I don't hang around weaving and making babies."

He looked taken aback, "Queen Persephone," he said, falling back into formality, "I didn't mean to offend you. I just meant...that he must care for you a great deal."

"I'm sure he thinks I'm fine. He's okay also." I crossed my arms and frowned, "You're in love with Achilles."

He turned crimson, "Do not tell him. I mean...please...please don't say anything. I'm just a...clumsy prince."

I grinned, "Wouldn't dream of it, Pat. I get it though, I mean, he's pretty."

"Do you really lead the armies?"

"Yeah, I do."

He grinned at me, "So, if he didn't snatch you off of a field, how did you meet?"

"I saved him from the clutches of a monster."

He laughed, "Are you joking? Is that really what happened?"

I laughed with him, "He's not that good at defending himself, I mean, he's smart and conniving and everything, but you put a sword in his hand in the heat of battle and he's about as helpful as a ten year old."

Patroclus gave me a mock revering look, "So you're a hero. Saving attractive strangers from the jaws of beasts."Oh yeah, there should be odes about my heroics."

He shrugged, "Who taught you to fight? I beg pardon, but it is not often that women learn..."

I smiled and made an unsure sort of gesture, "My father, I guess, but he died when I was really young, I mostly learned myself. I mean...I grew up mostly on my own." It was relieving to tell someone this, for Bobby to continue on in story if not in name.

He touched my shoulder, "So did I." I knew that he meant he was ignored or left by himself and not that he was abandoned in an underground bunker in utter isolation, but the commiseration was appreciated.

He brightened, "You should train with Achilles, I'm sure he'd let you, you're a goddess! You should see him fight. It's a wonder to behold."

Achilles melodic voice rumbled from behind us, "What are you promising of me, Patroclus?"

He gave Achilles his most winning smile, looking quite a bit like a puppy when he did, ,"Will you teach her to fight, Achilles? She taught herself, she leads the legions of the Underworld and she is asking you to train her. Think of the honor in that."

Achilles crossed his arms and regarded me, his mouth turned down in a grimace, "You're asking this of me, Patroclus?"

"Yes, Achilles."

**XXXXX**

Sam was interrupted from his reading by a fervent knock on Crowley's office door. Dean and Sam both glowered at Crowley, who in turn was glowering at the door. It opened before he could admit whoever was knocking. He mouth twisted downward at the demon who was framed in the doorway, eyes wide and black.

Standing with his hands on the desk Crowley snarled, "You cannot traipse into my office unannounced, I am the -"

"Is it true?" The demon asked, interrupting Crowley, his voice shaking and soft, his eyes fell on the body and his body swayed, "She's…"

"Dead." Crowley finished for him, "Yes." He watched him hawkishly, eyes fixed on the demon's worried brow, his sloping shoulders and hands, clenching and unclenching. The demon took a few steps toward her body. Dean stood up aggressively, standing between Bobby and the intruder. Crowley too, had stepped out from behind his desk. Only Sam had remained in his seat, eyes lingering on his brother, rather than the intruder.

"I'm not going to hurt her...I just want to see her." He pushed his hair back out of his face, his eyes briefly squeezing shut.

Crowley tilted his head back in a snarl, "Who are you? What were you to her?"

He opened his eyes and looked at Crowley for the first time, "Did you find the book? I know...she meant to give it to you." He tilted his head back and blinked, eyes watering.

Dean barked at the newcomer, his voice deep but less angry than Crowley's, "You her boyfriend?"

Crowley snarled at him, "Hey."

Dean shrugged, "She's my kid, Crowley, she can move up from you."

The demon held up his hands, "No. She and I were not… We were friends, old friends." He held out his hand to Dean, "I've heard thousands of years of stories about you, it's nice, to have a face to go with the name. I don't know if you've read the book yet, Achilles."

Sam stood now, eyes wide, eyebrows nearly disappearing under his hair. "Achilles? Really...you're Achilles? But you're a...you're a demon."

He laughed, "Have you read that book about me? You think the angels wanted me?" He turned his attention back to Dean, "Sir, may I see her? She and I were very good friends for very many years."

Dean stepped aside, and Achilles walked slowly across the room. He looked down at the body and smiled sadly, "You stupid-" he drew a short and curved sword from his belt. He laid it across her chest and wrapped her hand around the hilt."

He straightened his back and nodded at her, "I would expect more visitors. She will be...greatly mourned."

"Visitors?" Dean rasped, "Who?" His voice sounded almost soft. Sam looked oddly at him.

Achilles shrugged, "Gabriel will come."

Sam scoffed, "Gabriel is dead."

Achilles laughed, "Sure." he looked back at Dean, "There should be funeral games. The very best."

"Games? Funeral _games_?"

Sam interrupted him, "Greeks had big celebrations to honor important dead, usually kings and heroes."

"She's not a king! She's a kid."

Achilles furrowed his brow, "Mr. Winchester...she was a goddess."

"Yeah...right."

Achilles reached out, handing a slip of paper to Dean.

"What's this?"

"My cellphone number. Call me before the funeral, I will be there. But I have things I have to do, people to tell."

Sam blinked, "You have a cellphone?"

Achilles shot him a look, "Obviously." He turned and reached for the door.

Sam asked, before he could disappear, "In her journal she is close to Patroclus too, where is he?"

Achilles froze, his body rigid, "In heaven as he should be." he said over his shoulder, then he slipped quickly through the door.

Dean turned and looked at Bobby's body, her hand clutched around Achilles' sword, the wounds in her chest a brilliant red.

Dean looked at Sam, "Why didn't she ask us to help her?"

Sam opened his mouth to answer but Dean interrupted him, "Just keep reading the book."

"Dean, you can't take this so personally?"

Dean rounded on Sam, "_Personally_? She's my kid, Sammy, and she got locked in the bunker at the end of the world, took over hell and hooked up with _Crowley._ Hell, I did a worse job than _Dad._ Sammy, she built _Hell."_

Sam stood and walked toward him, "But Dean, she didn't really make Hell, there were ghosts attacking people, she made a place for them to go, she made a haven, they _loved her for it._"

"She killed a kid, Sammy, she ate his heart."

Crowley laughed at his, "She chose to kill a single boy who would have died anyway so that she could save the world. Are you trying to say you've never killed an innocent person? Perhaps I should call Kevin to ask about that. Ah- right."

Dean turned at looked at Bobby again, "Just read the damn book."

Sam sat back down and picked up the book, Crowley seemed torn between wanting to continue berating Dean and wanting to hear the journal. He poured himself another drink and nodded at Sam to continue.

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

With Achilles' and Patroclus' help it was not long until we had found our way to Argos, me a little battered from Achilles' fierce training. I was getting rather good, not as good as Achilles, but who could expect to be as good as Achilles?

I entered the town alone, leaving Achilles and Patroclus with the chariot. I had changed out of my armor and put on the gown that had thus far been stuffed in the bottom of my bag. It was...a little wrinkled, but elegant nonetheless.

I found her easily, she was older than I was, well, I wasn't sure how old I was, time seemed to move in Hell differently from on earth, but she looked older than I did, large eyed and beautiful. She was lounging at the fountain at the center of town. I sat down next to her and smiled, "Io."

She looked up at me, her dark brown eyes questioning, "I am not sure I know you, though you seem to know me, although, who doesn't."

"Persephone, it's a pleasure to finally find you, I've been looking for you for a long time."

She blinked, "Persephone?" Her gaze darkened brazenly, "I want nothing else to do with the gods."

I smiled more broadly, "I think you might be interested in this."

She bared her teeth, "I was turned into a _cow_, I was pursued across the world, I was dishonored, my father will not speak with me, I was a priestess and now I am _nothing_."

I responded in a soft voice to counter her harsh one, "I was snatched from the battlefield, locked in Olympus under guard of the hundred eyed dog, I only just escaped."

Her gaze softened, "What I would give to sink a knife in that dog."

I grinned at her, "I did. I left it cold on that prison pedestal."

She reached out and took my hand, "If there was ever a goddess that I might worship it would be the one who murdered that dog. Now why have you been searching for me."

I let the anger I felt Zeus to creep into my eyes and I clutched her hand back, her fingers were long and fierce, "I am fighting a war with Zeus, and I am going to trap him. I have a spell, Io, but I need you."

"Trap Zeus? What do you mean?"

"I mean locking him away, perhaps forever."

There was a light in her eyes, "What do you need from me? Anything."

"Just a little blood, willingly given."

**XXXXX**

**From the Journal of Bobby Winchester**

I left Achilles and Patroclus where I had met them, albeit a little sadly. It had been fun running around Greece with them, but I was needed below.

"Be on the look out for us, when we come down to meet you." Achilles laughed as I hugged him farewell.

"You're pretty good with a spear," I said to him cheekily.

"That's what I hear."

The doorway opened behind me and I grinned at both of them, barking to Bones to take me home. Blood willingly given in tow.

**AN: Well, as a Classicist I had WAY too much fun writing this chapter, Patroclus is my baby. I hope you all liked it and I have the next one in the works already so maybe not so long a wait.**


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

My triumphal entrance was muted somewhat by a nearly entirely empty palace. Dionysus had disappeared into his room without answering and Crowley, according to his secretary was on some sort of trip with Gabriel which was too adorable for me to be really upset about, but I did not really enjoy coming home to an empty palace.

I dropped off my armor in its stand and carefully deposited my blood in a locking case. I sighed roughly and, pulling on a comfortable pair of pants and a loose shirt, I trudged out of the room. I was met by my handmaiden who gasped at me, "My lady!" she exclaimed, "Did I not provide adequate clothing, I'm sorry, my lady, I did not know you would be returning."

I waved her away, "No no, there's clothes, this is fine."

She looked ready to argue then backed down, "As you wish, my lady."

In my absence I had forgotten this sort of thing. I could play a good game of dressing up and frowning down at people like a good cold hearted queen, but it wasn't my instinct. It made me almost yearn for my years alone in the bunker, it made me realize how much I had loved adventuring with Achilles and Patroclus.

Yawning and rounding a corner I nearly ran into someone, I put out my arm and stepped aside to keep from bowling them over, "Oh, excuse me."

"My lady!" it was Xed, he smiled openly at me, "You're back. How was your trip? Did the chariot work well? Was it easy to control a hellhound? Was the mission successful?" He asked all of these things very quickly without taking a breath.

"Yeah, Xed, I got everything done, made some new friends. The chariot was great."

He beamed, "Congratulations, my lady- uh sorry - Persephone. I've mi-oh um. Glad you were...successful."

"You want to get a drink or something, Xed?"

His body went weirdly stiff. This was my _least_ favorite part of being the Queen of Hell, I really just wanted to hang out with this guy and he was getting all weird.

"Sorry, Xed, I didn't - look I'll talk to you later."

"No, I'd um. I'd love to get a drink with you."

I grinned at him, "Great, come on." I led him to the sitting room and poured him a drink before pouring one for myself. "So, how's the Underworld been while I was gone?"

He took the drink and settled across the room from me. Preferring him to be a little uncomfortable than to yell all the way across the room, I sat on the other side of the couch he had chosen, leaning against its arm.

He was sitting stiffly, "Oh, the underworld was alright, Lord Hades kept everything under command, although he doesn't seem to get along with Dionysus very well. There has been some tension. And um...there has been...um..."

He trailed off, I let him, he was nervous enough without me badgering him. I laughed, "Yeah, I really want to like him but he does that thing…"

Xed took a drink of his wine and frowned, "What thing?"

"You know," I hedged, "That madness violence sex….thing. Has he not done that to you?"

He went brilliantly red and shoved himself harder against the sofa arm, "No I -um...what? That sounds...uncomfortable. um. No. This is wine. Good wine. This wine is good."

I was getting uncomfortable with how uncomfortable Xed was, I couldn't really figure out why he was so tense. I refilled his cup and sat back down, "So have you been working on any projects?"

"Oh, yes, I have actually. I am working on this armor for Hellhounds, to make them more effective in battle."

Really, I stood and pulled him up by the hand, "Show me!"

He went pink again, "Oh - Alright." he set down his glass and led me through the palace to his workshop. I followed him, shuffling my feet, I was more tired than I really had thought I would be. I drank my wine as I walked, I wasn't about to abandon that just to see some Hellhound armor.

I yawned, as I followed him and he glanced back at me coloring again before stumbling on. I was not sure what was wrong with him. "So," he said, peering back at me, "What did you do on earth? You said you made friends? Who?"

"Um, these two guys, Achilles and Patroclus, they taught me how to fight better."

"Oh," he said with surprise, "You, um, you wandered around with two um, two men? Warriors?"

"...yes."

"Oh, so did you um, I mean, were they, uh, nevermind. I'm um… I'm glad that you met friends. Does Lord Hades know?"

"No, I haven't seen him yet." I took another swig of wine. Crowley was right to miss liquor, whisky would have been preferable to this.

He held the door open and let me walk in. In the middle of the workshop was a giant dog sized set of twisted dark metal armor, "Wow, Xed, that's really excellent, you're a really good blacksmith, no I mean like you're a _really _good blacksmith." I turned and clapped him on the shoulder jovially.

I went closer and peered around at the armor, running my hands over it. I turned back to grin at Xed and found that he was already staring at me. "These are great, Xed, when can you have more done, we'll have to have some of the soldiers train with the dogs, really integrate them."

"You think so? I mean, you think its a good idea? Really?"

"Yeah, yeah Xed," I grinned at him, "Do these shoulder parts move?"

"Oh, yes," he said coming toward me, he took the large shoulder plate and showed me how it bent up and down. His bare biceps flexed when he did, he was more well muscled than I had noticed and had sort of a musky masculine smell.

"So," I asked, furrowing my brow at the metal, "When we were in battle, they mostly got attacked in the sternum, is there a front plate to protect them there?"

"Yes," he said with excitement, I had them spar with some soldiers and watched them."

"Right, so this part," I said, lifting a large plate, "Is this what goes across the sternum?" I tried to lift it into place so I could visualize it but, with a single hand, the other holding my wine, I wasn't really strong enough.

"Let me help you," he reached around me and lifted the plate into place.

I bent to inspect it, looking at the flat planes of the front plate. "You should put in some ridges to displace spear strikes.

"That is a good, um, can I put it down, uh… It's just...heavy."

From the doorway came a deep voice, "You're _home_."

I turned to see Crowley leaning in the doorway, dropping the armor Xed about leapt back from me. I smiled at Crowley and walked toward him, "Yeah, you were gone, off with Gabe?"

His gaze was a little darker and more intense than I thought it should be for a welcome-home-greeting. "What? Oh- yes, Gabriel. Come have a drink with me, although, it seems you have already started with the blacksmith."

"I'd love more," I said finishing my cup, I looked over my shoulder, "Good job with the armor, Xed, see you later." I looked expectantly at Crowley.

"Oh, is it my turn now?" he said under his breath.

I wrinkled my nose in confusion and went back to our chambers, letting the door close before I turned on him, "_Oh is it my turn now? _What the hell does that mean?"

He glowered, "You're gone for months and when you come back I find you wrapped in the arms of some blacksmith?"

"...really? Is that why you're mad, because he was showing me armor...for the military...that I run?"

Crowley stepped toward me, a danger in his eyes meant to intimidate but I found kind of silly, "A well muscled _boy _who ogles you whenever you walk by, and can't speak properly in your presence was '_showing you armor' _with his arms around your waist, whispering in your ear?"

I was taken aback, "I mean...he doesn't...ogle me. And besides, I'm going to have to speak with him, he's the blacksmith, and he's really good."

He crossed his arms and turned away, looking uncomfortable. "What the hell, Crow? Why are you so irate about this? I'm home again, I got the blood, I thought you'd be happy."

"Do you imagine I paced around the palace just _waiting _for you to come back?"

"Uh no I-"

"Perhaps laying in the bed at night smelling your scent on the pillows?"

"Crow, what the fu-"

"While you run off with handsome men I just wait for you with a hollow heart?"

I shoved him backward a step, which effectively stopped him, "Crowley, you need to settle down. Did you finally go crazy? Did Gabriel ruin you?"

He stopped and turned away, walking aggressively across the room then turned and snarled over his shoulder at me, "How was your trip across Greece with the famously handsome Achilles?"

I laughed, "You're really mad about that, well first, he's really young, second, I'm pretty sure he's in love with Patroclus. But while we're talking about it," my voice dropped from a jovial laugh to a sharp and biting snarl, "I get to spend time with men without you losing your mind."

He charged back toward me, "Oh, is that right? Then you plan on galavanting frequently with men famed for their looks?"

"If I damn well please!"

I thought for a moment that he was going to strike me, but he did not. He just pressed his face right up into mine and leered, "What, then were you doing with Achilles that took you so long?"

I did not let my eyes waiver from his, there was no reason to lie, but he wasn't really endearing me to openness and honesty, "You'll have to trust me, Crowley." This might have been the Crowley that my father had hated, the one my he had warned me against. I realized for the first time that the man who was the last person on Earth and the reigning King of Hell might be two different men.

A knock on the door interrupted his reply, "Enter," he barked, turning away from me.

A hesitant servant poked his head in, "My Lord, Lady Aphrodite is awaiting you."

I stepped back from him, "Oh, Lady Aphrodite? You didn't tell me she had dropped by," I said this in my sweetest voice, "You had better go, you wouldn't want to keep her waiting."

His face was cold and stripped of emotion, and he bit back, "I am get to spend time with women without you losing your mind." I raised an eyebrow and he nearly fled out the door after the guard.

I did not follow him immediately. There was something wrong. Crowley did not flee. Even worse, Crowley didn't lose control, not over nothing, not over something so stupid like my being friends with a teenager. My heart skidded in my chest. Slipping on a real gown, doing something to my hair, now falling to my chin, and choosing my softest shoes. I intended to look the part when I met Aphrodite for the second time. I glanced at myself in the mirror. My crown tilted on my head, I righted it. No matter how long I was Queen I always surprised myself when I looked the part. In my head I was rough and leather clad.

Crowley and Aphrodite's enclave was not hard to find, he had met with her in the private sitting room off the throne room, as I had expected. Their backs were to the open door and, if I walked slowly and quietly enough, I could glimpse them before they knew I had entered.

They were sitting next to each other on the same couch, her shoulders bare in whatever dress she was wearing. I leaned against the doorway and listened to her purr in a soft whisper and watched his shoulder lean against hers. I could smell her perfume from here. It was intoxicating. I was neither obligated nor interested in seeing more. I shifted uncomfortably in my silk gown, I stepped back from the door and slipped down the hall.

I hardly made a noise as I clipped up the hallway for the door with vines poking out from underneath it. I knocked three times in quick succession. After a long wait Dionysus answered abruptly, eyes narrowed at me, he was in pajamas, loose pants and nothing else. I raised my eyebrows, he seemed less intimidated this way, more human. His dark eyes sunk into mine.

"Di," I addressed him, "I've got the blood, I know Hades will do the spell the second he has the chance, so come with me."

He raised a slender brow, "Come with you where?"

"Out and about, let's adventure, there are plenty of monsters to hunt." The idea was congealing in my head as I talked. The air in the palace was suffocating. I had to get out. To be in the sun again.

He frowned and tilted his head, then a slow smile crept up his face, "You're going on an adventure? The moment you return? And you would like me to come?"

"Yeah, we're friends."

"Not because Hades is sleeping with Aphrodite."

I stared at him and in a voice more distressed than I had anticipated I asked, "...is he?"

"I didn't concern myself with it. If they are, I had nothing to do with it." His voice was more serious that I had heard it, not laced with any of his usual slipperiness.

"Really?" I couldn't decide if I would rather devious Dionysus had forced his hand or take the opportunity as it presented itself.

He reached out hesitantly and put a long fingered hand on my shoulder, the gesture seemed foreign to him, "We are friends. I'll come with you."

I grinned, repressing my churning emotions, "Great, I'm bringing Xed too, and Gabe."

"I'll meet you-."

"Twenty minutes, in the workshop."

He nodded and fixed me with a smile that wasn't undercut by darkness.

My heart was pounding as I walked away from him. I knew Crowley would take care of capturing Zeus, he was more of a threat to Hell than Crowley could stand for. I wasn't, however, sure that I wanted to disappear. I knew I was running, but after my adventure the palace was stifling and Crowley was...was the first person I had ever met outside my family. That didn't make him necessarily the best. My father had hated him. He screamed at me for having a friend that wasn't him. I quickened my pace. He had saved me from Zeus. I touched my lips and for a moment I stopped walking. It wasn't often that he showed tenderness but he _had. _And he smelled...he smelled like home.

I looked up, ready to turn and confront Crowley, to repair whatever needed repairing. Dark glass of a window stared back at me, with a glimmering reflection. I in my silken gown. Unfamiliar and regal. I proceeded to Gabriel's room.

Gabriel was in his room, passed out on the bed, face down. I shook him, "Gabey, Gabey wake up."

He sat up, bleary eyed. Then, seeing me, shot up and threw his arms around me, I hadn't noticed, he was taller than he had been when he came, his jaw was getting a little sharper. I looked down at him, unsure how he would react. "Gabe, I am going for a while...maybe for...a long while. I'm not- I'm not a -" this was harder than talking to Dionysus.

He looked up at me, and I could see stickiness around his mouth, a pastry hastily eaten. Glancing over his shoulder I saw a dinner sized plate with the remnants of a dessert left upon it. The room itself looked too lived in, I knew how a place looked if you had not left it. This hardened my heart against Crowley who had _promised_ to take care of him, "I'm going on an adventure on earth, hunting."

He interrupted me, his voice harder than I had heard it, "You're leaving me? Again? Leaving me _here?"_

"No," I took him by the shoulders, "Come with me."

"Onto earth?"

"Yeah."

He licked some of the frosting from the corner of his mouth, and looked at me for a few seconds then said, in a serious voice I wasn't used to from him, "You want me to go with you?"

I kissed fiercely on the forehead, "You are my boy, as much as anybody who made you. I found you when you were hurt and I've harbored you in my castle. You are my son, Gabriel. My _son._ I will not abandon you somewhere you do not want to be. But you were made for open skies and a laughing sun. You were not made for the land of the dead. Come with me."

His eyes shimmered, "Bobby," he whispered, my real name, it burned brightly, hearing it from him, "Let's go now."

He came with me to the workshop. I didn't knock, Xed was standing over the armor muttering to himself.

"Xed." I called out. He jumped and turned.

"My..my lady. You're back."

"Yeah, look, uh….you know...uh..how long as Aphrodite been here?"

He glanced away, his face darkening, "A...a few weeks, my lady - uh..Persephone. My Lord Hades and she have been...working together closely. I wanted to tell you-"

"Right." I shrugged, cutting him off, as though this hadn't wounded me, "So, I am...going monster hunting and...I want you to come. This isn't an order. Just, as a friend, I want you to come."

He stared at me, "As a friend? You- uh - yes. Yes. When are we leaving?"

"Now."

He leapt into action, gathering things into a knapsack, "Right now? Oh - alright. I'll - um - be right there."

"I'll be back, Gabe, give me ten minutes."

I went alone to my room to retrieve my things, a small backpack of travel gear and weapons. My father's journal. I clipped myself back into my armor and hoisted the back. I penned a note and left it for him, weighed down on the bed by my crown.

_C, _

_ Hunting._

_ -B. Winchester_

Dionysus was waiting in the workshop by the time I got there. The grown up thing to do would be talk to Crowley, fix whatever was or wasn't happening. But if I stayed it was an eternity of this. Of 'yes ma'am' and 'as you wish, my lady.' I was not made for it. I almost shook. It seemed like everything had collapsed with no warning with almost no reason. But I had built hell for him, had ruled hell for him, I had been playing his game for his sake. I was less concerned with whatever he might be doing with Aphrodite, she was, after all, Aphrodite, and if she wanted to set her claws into someone I could only assume they would hardly be able to resist. I wanted to play my own game. Live in the sun, on my feet. I wanted to do something that would make my father proud of me.

Bones was waiting there too, Xed had fitted him into the new armor. My gathered friends politely ignored my clenched shoulders and gnawed lip as they followed me through the portal, into the Grecian sun and away from the King of Hell.

"What will we be doing?" Gabriel asked as we stepped through the portal.

I shrugged, "Saving people. Hunting things."

**AN: What do you think!**


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